


The Mist in the Wood

by RiatheMai



Category: Yoroiden Samurai Troopers | Ronin Warriors
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fantasy, M/M, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:51:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiatheMai/pseuds/RiatheMai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Running from the invading forces that destroyed their village, Ryo and Rowan seek refuge in an enchanted forest for one night.  Local lore tells of a terrible curse: all who enter the forest with darkness in their hearts are never seen nor heard from again for the forest is beset by a beautiful, yet vengeful spirit. Though their hearts are pure, the two are exhausted and starving.  When a hare suddenly crosses their path, the two friends know it most likely is a ruse, but their need is too great. Ryo tells Rowan to kill the hare, silently vowing that whatever price the forest spirit asks, he will pay it does it mean that Rowan not go hungry one day longer.<br/>When the spirit comes demanding payment, Ryo offers him the only thing he has to offer and the one thing the spirit least expects to receive. Can love truly heal a hurt too terrible to endure, or will the spirit's tortured soul prove too damaged to ever mend.<br/>**WARNINGS**: This story contains sexually explicit descriptions of concentual sex between two men. It also contains non-graphic mention of past non-concentual sex/rape and cruelty. If this offends, please do not read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note 1: Okay, I have no idea where this came from. This is a very AU and OOC story, featuring my favorite RW boys sans their armor. Warnings for mention of non-consensual sex and for cruelty, but nothing graphic or on-screen. (Can’t say the same about the consensual kind, tho’) For those readers who are disturbed by such things, even in its smallest measure, you have been warned. For those of you looking for an abuse story, this ain’t for you either, but you are certainly welcome to stick around for the ride. For those of you looking for RW/YST characterizations, drag out your magnifying glasses and good luck.  
> Luv ya!: Ria (2/02)
> 
> Author’s Note 2: This is a re-release of a story I wrote back in 2002. It contains explicit descriptions of concentual sex between two men. If this offends you, please do not read. Constructive criticism is welcome, but flames will be ignored. Riathe (12/2012)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Ronin Warriors or the characters Sage/Seiji, Ryou/Ryo Touma/Rowan. Ronin Warriors and the characters Sage/Seiji, Ryou/Ryo, Touma/Rowan belong to Hajime Yatate/Sunrise. I make no money from the writing of this story.

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The forest was out of a child’s worst nightmare.  Blackened, leaf-bare trees reached their twisted boughs outward, their claw-like branches creaking in the silent breeze like arthritic fingers.  Darkness was everywhere, a blanket so thick even the full moon’s light could not pierce it completely.  The mists that rose from the damp ground glowed faintly in that meager light, incorporeal specters drifting from tree to tree.  What sent them to erratic motion could only be surmised.  Naught visible stirred them in its wake.  Even that silent breeze, which cast the gnarled and brittle branches to sway and clash, ventured no closer to the forest floor than the lowest bough.  The mantle of fallen leaves over which those ghostly wisps danced and writhed lay still and undisturbed in their repose.

For all that the forest seemed bereft of mortal life; the night was filled with sounds.  Strange screeches and clicks, and unearthly wails and howls belied the myth that naught lived within the forest.  The snap and crunch of dry dead leaves and broken twigs told that something tangible moved about in the darkness.  Its size was indiscernible but its speed was not; slow and stalking, a creature of cunning and stealth.  An animal, most likely.  A predator, definitely.

"We must be twelve kinds of moon-mad to be doing this," Rowan remarked unhappily.  He soothed one hand over the smooth, cool wood of the longbow cradled in his lap as he cast another uneasy glance out into the darkness.  "No sane creature travels these woods at night and you would have us roll out our blankets and make camp."

"See, you, another option?" Ryo asked.  He, too, kept his sword near at hand as he piled sticks and twigs together and set them alight with a few quick and skilled raps of stone on flint.  He carefully blew upon the tender ember, giving the greedy spark the breath of life until it caught, then gently fed it of the dried leaves and needles he’d gathered.  "We cannot go back.  There is naught but ash and death for us there.  The roads are patrolled.  Think, you, the soldiers of Lord Naaza would deal kindly with us are we caught skulking about behind his lines?"

"Nay.  They’d make cruel sport of us both, an example to any and all who might dare to defy their Lord."

Ryo nodded grimly.  He sat back on his heels and drew his sword close.  With a keen eye he examined the edge looking for burrs and chips in the ancient steel.  ‘Twas all he had of his late teacher, and he cherished it greatly, taking meticulous care to keep it honed razor sharp.  Fire danced in his blue eyes and painted his dark complexion a golden tan and still Rowan could see his bone-deep exhaustion.  It mirrored his own but sleep could prove deadly in such a place.

"This wood is cursed, you know," he said conversationally.  ‘Twas local lore, and as such, Ryo was reluctant to give it much credence.  How Rowan should know of the myth—this land was many days fast travel from their own—Ryo had no idea, but Rowan knew and ‘twas oft his wont to share such tales around evening fires so Ryo didn’t discourage it now.  "They say there once stood a mighty fortress a day’s trek to the North.  It housed a King who had many daughters and only one son.  Now this King was a miserly monarch who hoarded his wealth at the expense of his people and despaired of having to once again divide his fortune o’er yet another bride price.

"One day raiders poured down out of the mountains yon, intent on plunder and conquest.  They set upon the village of the miserly King and laid siege to the fortress, ransoming the lives of his subjects in return for his surrender.  Fearing the loss of his wealth, the King devised a dastardly plan.  He sent word to the raiding General that he would ransom his lands and his gold with a treasure far more valuable; his youngest and most fair daughter.  The King’s messenger carried a likeness of the maiden, a beautiful child just coming to the blossom of womanhood, and ‘tis said that after but one look, the general was incensed.  On the following morn the maiden, cloaked against the early autumn morn, was cast out of the fortress and into the clutches of the raider’s man.

"The raiders withdrew as they had promised, but only to the depths of the dark wood beyond the King’s lands.  There they conspired and amassed greater numbers for a final siege on the King’s fortress.  They were dishonorable men, depraved and greedy.  Ne’er had it been their intention to honor the ransom.  They’d make sport of the maiden and bide their time in hiding until they could make their next strike.

"But they too had been duped. The Heir Prince was bereft and aggrieved at what await his beloved sister, and so he hatched a plan to save her.  Unbeknownst to King and General alike, he drugged his sister and locked her in the tower.  Then he made himself her likeness, for ‘twas said that the Prince was of delicate and pleasing countenance, and in truth, the very image of his sister.  ‘Twas no grand feat to make himself her shade.  Concealed by cloak and veil he went in her stead.

"When the general made to take her, he learnt of the deception and became enraged.  He had the Prince beaten and then whored him ‘twixt the lot of them till he was nigh dead.  Then they took his body and tossed it at the gates of the fortress wall, demanding honor of the King for his duplicity.  When the King saw what had befallen his son, instead of being incensed to do battle at the atrocity done his heir, he denounced his son saying, ‘This girl-child is no son of my loins.   He has made of himself a whore, so a whore shall he be.  Take him and do with him as you would.’  Then he sent down his daughter, stripped of wimple and cloak so there could be no mistake, and bade the raiders gone from his stoop.

"The raiders took the maid and her nigh-dead brother and fled back into the woods.  There they sundered the maiden brutally while the Prince was made to watch.  Wracked with agony and torment at his sister’s suffering, the Prince sent his spirit outward, seeking aid of any deity, high or low, light or dark, to help him see vengeance served.

"A terrible silence filled the forest and then a crash like lightning smote the ground beneath the general’s feet.  A great wave of darkness stole o’er all of the land and every man in its wake fell where he stood.  The trees blackened, their boughs twisting in throes of anguish and their leaves shriveling to dry husks.  And still the darkness came, cresting o’er the land and seeking the very heart of the Prince’s hatred.  The stone turned brittle and the fortress walls began to crack and crumble, and then with a terrible cry, the whole of the fortress came down. 

"When the dusts settled and the morn broke, there was naught left of the King’s fortress.  His gold was turned to powder and sent aloft by the wind, and King and all his men and servants alike were naught but dry and brittle bones.  Winter came and spring and summer, the seasons turning as is their wont; and the land reclaimed the place where the fortress once stood.  Of the forest, howe’er, naught has changed.  The mists rise and fall, the wayward spirit of the Prince, ‘tis believed, who still haunts these woods, fore’er trapped by the demon he’d called forth for revenge."

"And can he e’er be freed?" Ryo asked wearily.  A lazy, wistful smile was on his face, ever indulgent of Rowan’s fascination with lore, and at the moment, thankful for the distraction it gave. 

Rowan shrugged.  "I suppose there must be a way.  None e’er speak of it, though.  ‘Tis thought that whoe’er enters these woods and is touched by the mist ne’er leaves again.  ‘Tis said, as well, that he has become like the sirens that lure ships to crash along the rocks, a wraith who leads the hapless further and further into the forest and then feeds them to the demon.  The few who have escaped are mad with fear, their minds broken by the horror they have seen.  The local people will not venture near the forest’s edge lest they be drawn in and fore’er lost."

"That is good for us, then," Ryo stated.  "Mayhap, Lord Naaza’s men will be equally afeared.  They seemed a superstitious lot."

The fire burned warmly between them, and Ryo thrust his hands forward to ease the chill in his fingers.  The night was dry but the air was sharp, finding its way between the thin weave of his tunic and leggings.  It dried the sweat on his skin then seeped deeper; enough to set a faint shiver in his limbs that aggravated his many hurts.  

His flight from Lord Naaza’s men had been no more perilous than had Rowan’s.  When the cry had gone out, he and Rowan had grabbed their meager possessions; sword and longbow and blankets, and had fled in the night lest they be caught.  It rankled still, how they’d had to leave their people to their fate, but the elders had decided.  They were young and agile, skilled with their weapons and knowledgeable of the lands that lay beyond the village.  Should their village succumb, as had so many others, the houses burned, men slaughtered, and women and children enslaved; ‘twould come to them to get word to the King of what was happening. 

A sennight had passed since their flight, and Lord Naaza’s men had hounded them mercilessly, always just a step behind.  They were weary and hungry; their hearts heavy with grief for the people whom they had called friend and neighbor for so very long and their bodies taxed beyond all endurance. 

Ryo had wounds he’d been forced to neglect, small nuisances that sapped his strength and made his skin burn.  He’d kept them to himself, certain that Rowan too had hurts he’d not divulged.  He craved but one night’s rest, knowing sleep was a risk he dared not take, but wanting it so desperately his body trembled with the need.  He worried for Rowan’s welfare, should he falter and Rowan be forced to go on alone.

Rowan pulled his knees up close to his chest and rested his chin upon them.  Hunger gnawed at his belly and thirst burned in his throat.  He wondered how much longer they could go on with naught but berries and rain water to sustain them.  His bow sat heavy in his lap and his fingers ached to feel the cool wood and silky line as he drew back and took aim on some fattened hare or fox.  He wished he dared hunt but he knew he’d find no game in this forest.  None he dared hunt, at any rate.  What lurked in this accursed wood would more as lief hunt them as flee from his bow.

He looked across the fire at his companion.  They had known each other since boyhood, had called each other friend, and for a time, lover.  Now, they were all the other had left in the world, all that stood between hope and despair; for how could he prevail without Ryo at his side? 

Gods, but he looks worn, Rowan thought fretfully.  The third day out, they’d run afoul of a small contingent of Lord Naaza’s advance scouts.  They’d evaded capture, but Rowan knew Ryo had taken a wound to his side that pained him still.  Ryo had denied it, of course; belittling the extent of his injury lest Rowan worry, but he could do little to hide how his breath would catch in his throat did he twist too quickly or place a foot wrong.  The breaths he took were small and careful, as though he dreaded to fill his lungs.  How he’d run, hurdling fallen branches and skirting tree trunks, as they’d made their mad dash into the forest, Rowan could not begin to fathom.  ‘Twas clear he paid for the folly now.

"You should rest," Ryo said softly.  Concern and guilt weighed his dark brow, as though the fault of their lot was entirely his and none other’s.  There was naught Rowan could do to ease him of this, for ‘twas Ryo’s way to take things upon himself, to push himself past the point of endurance though there were others nigh to share the load.  "Can we reach the forest’s edge while night is still upon us we may be able to sneak past their sentries while they drowse at their posts."

He didn’t sound very hopeful but Rowan nodded anyway.  "Would that the morn dawned with a fog as thick as pea soup."  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he hadn’t said them.  Ryo moaned longingly, his hand ghosting over his hollow stomach, and Rowan’s stomach grumbled in protest.  He smiled contritely and mumbled, "Sorry."

But Ryo bowed his head in misery.  "’Tis I who am sorry, Ro," he said into his lap, too ashamed to meet Rowan’s eyes.  "Since leaving our village, we have followed my lead, and look at where it has gotten us.  Half-starved, parched, and ragged in the middle of a dead forest."

"An accursed, dead forest," Rowan corrected absently. 

An unearthly howl sounded out of the darkness and they both clutched their weapons tighter.  It came from all directions, its distance indiscernible; and Ryo rolled his eyes in exasperated fright.  "Thank you," he muttered of no one in particular.  "In the middle of an accursed, dead forest, which is probably surrounded on all sides by now."

"And had we followed my lead, we would probably both be dead, or worse."

"Worse?"

"Aye, worse!  We could be whored out to the lot of them, buggered and beaten as the fancy takes them, and we’d still be half-starved, parched, and ragged."

Ryo flinched at the harshness of Rowan’s words, then quickly turned his face away.  A shudder passed through his body, fingers of dread or maybe premonition; he knew not which, ghosting under his skin.  Images of Rowan, bound and bloody, sundered from both front and back by some brutish lout while Ryo was made to watch, assailed him.  For one pained heartbeat, he felt a sort of kinship with the young Prince in Rowan’s story.  Helpless and forced to witness such brutality upon someone whom he loved above all else, what vow would Ryo make to avenge him?  What price would Ryo pay to see justice served?

"Ryo?"  When Ryo didn’t respond, his face turned away and his shoulders tense and shivering, Rowan went to his side.  Cupping his hand to Ryo’s cheek, he turned Ryo’s face to his.  Such anguish was in Ryo’s eyes, and more guilt than Ryo would ever have reason to bear.  It broke Rowan’s heart to see it, to know ‘twas for him Ryo wept.  He drew him near and kissed his lips once, chaste and sweet.

"Better the curse than what they have planned, Ryo," Rowan told him earnestly.  He took Ryo against him and coaxed Ryo’s head upon his shoulder with a gentle touch.  "I couldn’t bear to see you harmed."

A silent sob choked Ryo’s throat, born of exhaustion, fear and pain, and Rowan held him tighter.  A sennight of danger and struggle, and Ryo had held it all in, never weeping for what he had lost or for the impossible task he’d been given.  He’d held Rowan together, cradling him when he’d cried and soothing him when he’d cursed; making of himself a barrier against the despair that lurked at every impasse.  ‘Twas Ryo who needed strength now, who needed a shield against the darkness weighing down his heart.  Come morn, he would rally, forcing back the weariness, the hunger, thirst, and pain, to push onward, wasting himself to naught to see his task done.

Let me be strong, this night, Rowan prayed.  On the morrow, I will need your strength, but tonight, let me be strong for you.

‘Twas not to be, however.  Ryo pushed himself upright, and swiped at his tearing eyes with his fist, embarrassed and ashamed at his emotional display.  Weariness ate at him like a blight, but he feared to give into it just yet.  He could feel the tremors of exhaustion wracking Rowan’s body, the tiny shivers that coursed through his slender frame at the biting nighttime air.  Too many days with little food and water, the relentless pace they’d set, and the constant fear and uncertainty; were taking a terrible toll on him.  Could Ryo ease some of the strain by providing him with even the slightest respite, Ryo would force himself to vigilance and guard his rest.

He opened his mouth to bade—aye, to plead—Rowan sleep when movement caught in the tail of his eye.  He turned his head slowly, one hand on his sword and the other on Rowan’s arm, a signal to be still and silent for trouble was about.  He peered into the ever encroaching darkness and sought what, he knew not. 

There ‘twas again, small and white, moving about beneath a giant oak.  Ryo blinked.  Could the fates be so cruel to give him such imaginings?  Beside him Rowan drew a small gasp.

"Do I truly see this?" he asked in a whisper made breathless with amazement.  His hand closed around his bow, his fingers tingling in near-mad anticipation.

Again Ryo blinked but the scene did not change.  Were he indeed delusional, ‘twas the most convincing illusion he’d ever seen.  A small, white hare rooted in the layers of fallen leaves not ten feet from where he and Rowan sat.  Did she know they were there, watching her with yearnful eyes, she paid them no heed.  Even the fire did not deter her quiet pursuit of acorns and seedpods.  ‘Twas as though she had no knowledge of fire or of man, and therefore no instinct to fear them.

"This is a ruse," Rowan declared, disbelief and hope at odds in his voice.  Even still, he was reaching for the quiver of arrows, which lay on the ground by his hip.

"A boon or a trick, I’ll take that chance."  And pay the price regardless, Ryo vowed silently.  "We need the meat.  We’ll not last much longer with naught to eat."  He looked back at Rowan, at his hollow cheeks and his shadowed eyes and made his choice.  "Do it."  And whate’er the cost, I’ll pay it!

 

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The meat was tough and plain with naught to season or tenderize it, but they set upon it as though ‘twas a feast fit for Kings.  A small feast.  No part went to waste, could it be stomached.  Even the blood served to slake their thirst, so great was their need.  Their hunger appeased, though by no means sated, they tossed those parts that they could not eat: bones, tendons and the unsafe organs, to the side to be buried later.

One need satisfied, their exhaustion pulled at them all the more.  Night was upon them, a greater blackness settling over the forest than ever they had thought possible.  It beckoned them to slumber even as reason bade them to resist.  The night’s cacophony was alight.  The strange cries and howls of creatures they did not know, rose around them, distant and yet not. 

Rowan drew his blanket around his shoulders and clutched it tight at his throat.  His gaze went to Ryo, similarly huddled beneath his own thread-bear cover, and lingered over the familiar and beloved features.  Dirt streaked his cheekbone and scratches marred his jaw.  His eyes were shadowed and dull where once they had been full and bright, a blue unlike any Rowan had ever seen.  Still he was beautiful, strong and true; and Rowan thanked the Fate that had seen their paths converged.  The loss of his family, his friends and villagers was a pain he’d carry always, but had he lost Ryo as well, ‘twould have destroyed him utterly.

"You have a wistful look about you," Ryo observed idly. 

"Do I?"  Rowan supposed ‘twas so.  "I was just thinking.  Would that we could be safe here one night.  I mean, well and truly safe.  I would hold you, and have you hold me the whole night through."

Ryo smiled.  "Just hold?"

"’Twould be enough."  Rowan’s smile turned wicked and he dipped his head.  "Though I’d not turn down the offer for more."

"Nay?"

"It has been a long time."

Color painted Ryo’s cheeks and he turned his head away shyly.  "’Twasn’t that I no longer wanted to," he said to the fire. 

"Just that the need was no longer so great," Rowan agreed.  "We grew beyond it, you and I, and I’d not have it any other way.  Truly."  Rowan’s smile faded slightly, his brow creasing with troubled thoughts.  "’Tis only now, when all seems so lost and so dire, that I wish we could have it again.  Mayhap, ‘tis only that I long to know we could…that we dared, for ‘twould mean that we were safe.  Is that so wrong?"

Ryo studied Rowan’s pensive profile, awash with golden warmth from the fire.  Despite the dirt and the bruises, Rowan was as beautiful to Ryo as he’d always been.  Tall and lean, his features were as delicate as any girl’s were and yet he was alluringly male, strong and determined and proud.  Once the mere sight of him had set Ryo’s blood astir.  Now ‘twas just a pleasant warmth, a hearth's fire to his spirit.

He pushed himself to his knees, suppressing a grunt of pain as the movement aggravated his badly bruised ribs, and crawled to Rowan’s side.  As Rowan had done earlier, he cupped his hand to Rowan’s cheek and brought their lips together.  ‘Twas a simple kiss, so sweet and gentle, and yet Ryo knew ‘twould take but a little more to enflame them.  Rowan’s lips were soft, tasting faintly of the tang of meat and blood.  His scent filled his nose, familiar and safe regardless of the peril around them.  He drew back and held Rowan’s gaze fondly.

"’Tis not so wrong," he said softly.  "I want that too.  A quiet room, with a warm fire burning in the hearth and fresh straw and clean blankets on which to sleep."

"You in my arms and against my body, and naught ‘twixt us but skin," Rowan elaborated lasciviously and Ryo blushed again.  Rowan laughed and kissed him hard.  "You are far too winsome to blush like a maiden."

"When this is done, our message delivered and our duty served, we will have such a room and we will see who blushes like a maiden.  Mark my words."  He gathered Rowan against him and wrapped his blanket around them both.  Rowan’s head fell to Ryo’s shoulder and Ryo laid his own to Rowan’s crown. 

The fire crackled softly before them, its glow keeping the darkness at bay.  Rowan’s head grew heavy against Ryo’s shoulder, his breathing slowing and deepening as slumber stole over him.  Ryo settled him more comfortably against him, and when Rowan still did not stir, Ryo let him sleep.  They were warm and their stomachs no longer empty.  They were safe from Lord Naaza’s forces, though, mayhap not from the forest and its secrets.  Ryo surmised that should the forest suddenly rise up against them, ‘twould surely make such a ruckus as to waken Rowan in time.  So long as he stayed awake to raise the alarm, all should be well.

He watched the fire dance as he idly rubbed his cheek against Rowan’s hair.  ‘Twas as dirty as his own, weighed down with sweat and tangled with bits of leaves from an earlier tumble, but Ryo didn’t mind.  He remembered it smelling of lake water and summer grass, of sunshine and sweet clover.  He held the memory close and prayed ‘twould be so again.  They’d see their way out and reach the King’s fortress in time, and the faith shown them by their village would not prove to have been misplaced.

He found himself thinking about the story Rowan had told him.  Such bravery behind so ill-conceived a plan.  The Prince had to have known what fate would befall him when his duplicity was discovered, and yet he’d faced it willingly for his sister’s sake.  Ryo wondered could he, himself; make so dire a decision in so hopeless a situation?  Would he have the courage to see it through?   He could only hope that he could.  His heart ached for what the Prince had endured, for the cruelty done him and his sister, the Princess.  Mostly he ached for the Prince’s soul; that it should be held prisoner, punished, in a sense; for so selfless a sacrifice.

In his arms Rowan stirred once, mumbling some distress or another until Ryo soothed him to stillness with a softly spoken word.  Tears of despair stung behind his eyes and he closed them against their release.  For Rowan’s sake, there was naught that Ryo would not endure.  He believed this in his heart.  He hoped he would never be called to prove it.

Should that call come, though, he prayed fervently.  Please let me be but half as brave as this ghost in the wood. 

The fire lulled him and, quite unwittingly, he drowsed.  He marked the passage of time, telling himself that he merely rested his weary eyes.  Verily, his ribs throbbed mercilessly.  Sitting as he was with Rowan heavy against him, sleep as true and deep as he needed was impossible.  He simply hurt too much with every breath.

His exhaustion was great, however, and he sank deeper beneath its terrible weight until even the persistent aches in his body were not enough to hold him aloft.  Time passed without his notice.  The fire burned low in its cradle with no one to feed it.  The darkness crept closer until the chill of night seeped into his skin like the cold kiss of dread.  It roused him slightly and with that faint awareness came the knowledge of two terrible truths.

One; he had fallen asleep.  Two; they were no longer alone.

He opened his eyes and drew in a startled breath.  Mist rose and gathered on the other side of the fire, swirling like smoke caught in a whorl of air.  It converged and spread, and then drew together again until its shape was that of a young man of such exquisite beauty it made Ryo’s heart ache to look upon him.

It stood before him, an apparition of flowing, swirling mist; and one hand swept out toward the fire and the remains of the hare they’d felled and eaten.  "You have accepted my gift," the wraith said.  His voice was deep and melodic, sounding both near and so very distant.  "And now, I will accept your payment."

 

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The mist was ever shifting, ever moving, as though the breezes that rustled the trees overhead could somehow affect it as well.  The billow of the pale hair and the sweep of the long stately robes all conspired to give life and substance to that which had none.  The body beneath—could it indeed be called such—was still and regal, composed in princely stature even though it hovered two hand’s-spans above the ground.

"My price?" Ryo repeated, nigh stupid with shock and disbelief.  Before him floated the apparition of a young man nigh his age.  Pale and translucent, his entirety was naught but varying shades of grey, but for his eyes, which shone the sharpest pale blue.  ‘Twas the color of a mid-winter sky.  Verily, his very image reminded Ryo of winter, cold and austere in its singular beauty. 

"Boon or trick," the wraith said in a voice that sounded hollow and distant.  "You’d pay the price regardless, you said."  Those icy eyes narrowed scornfully.  "Or do you take the matter of your heart-spoken vows so lightly?"

"Nay!" Ryo denied emphatically.  The suggestion made him defiant despite his fear, and he would have risen to his feet, sword out in challenge at the slander, but for Rowan’s weight against him.  He nudged him once, and then again, when Rowan failed to rouse.  Panic filled him and he took his friend in hand and shook him.  "Rowan?"

"He will not wake," the wraith told him as though ‘twas a trivial thing. 

Ryo looked at the cold, uncaring face of the ghost and then back at the serene, still face of his friend.  The lines of distress and exhaustion were gone, Rowan’s brow smooth and his mouth slack.  Rowan’s head was heavy against Ryo’s side; his slender body so lax in a boneless sprawl Ryo could not help but fear the worst.

"Nay," he cried, shaking him desperately to no avail.  Rowan lay as still as death.   "Oh Gods please, nay!"  He clutched him tight to his chest and rocked him, utterly undone in his grief and despair.  "Why?  I said I would pay.  Me!  Not HIM!   Not him."

"And so you shall pay." 

Ryo looked up through a veil of tears.  "Not like this, I beg you."

The wraith laughed then shook his head.   Pale hair twisted around his beautiful face, caught up in some unworldly breeze.  "He is unharmed.  He merely sleeps deeply, and he will remain thus until I free him.  My word on it."

Sleeps? Ryo’s heart repeated grasping onto the assurance blindly.  Ryo’s mind argued.  Rowan was a dead weight in his arms.   He caressed Rowan’s face and kissed his lips, and Rowan did not stir.  Tears coursed down Ryo’s cheeks and fell upon Rowan’s lashes and they did not so much as flutter.  How could the ghost claim that Rowan only slept when by all appearances he was well and truly dead?  He laid his brow to Rowan’s temple and wept bitterly.

Then he felt it.  A warm brush of air blew cool against his wet cheek.  He raised his head and searched Rowan’s restful face.  He touched one trembling finger to Rowan’s mouth and felt the breath fan against its tip.  He laid his hand flat against Rowan’s chest and felt the heart beat against his palm.  A sob choked him and he wept anew, cradling Rowan’s body close in profound relief.

"Come," the ghostly boy said then, unmoved by the tableau of emotion before him.  When Ryo looked up at him though, those translucent eyes looked troubled.  "Or would you have me take him in your stead?"

"Nay!" Ryo cried out. 

"Then come.  No harm will befall him.  I have given my oath and I honor my vows."

The challenge was obvious, but Ryo chose not to be bated.  "And I honor mine," he said instead.  ‘Twas the truth and he could no more deny it to the ghost than he could to himself.  He gently laid Rowan to the ground and fixed the blanket more snugly around him.  His hand lingered on Rowan’s face, cupping the boyishly smooth jaw for what he truly feared would be the very last time.  He leaned down and kissed his lips.  "Forgive me, Rowan," he whispered into his mouth then tore away harshly lest his heart unman him.

He stood and faced the mist resolutely.  Within his chest his heart beat fiercely, yet he held his chin high.  He took his sword in hand, and with great reverence he touched his lips to the cold steel then drove the tip into the ground between them. 

A slow smile spread across the ghost’s smooth face and he cocked his head to one side.  He turned then and began to drift away, assured in his bearing that Ryo would follow as bidden.   ‘Twas all Ryo could do to keep his eyes forward and to not look back at Rowan, where he lay sleeping.  "I’m sorry, Rowan," he whispered.  "Please understand."  He took his hand from his sword; his most valued possession now bequeathed to his most beloved friend, and followed the mist into the wood.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<<{@}>>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

They stopped but a short distance from where Ryo had left his heart.  Verily, Ryo could stand in the wide clearing the ghost had chosen and see the warm amber glow from the fire which burned lowly in the space Rowan and he had made their camp.  ‘Twas blessing and curse both.  Ryo’s resolve was firm yet guilt pricked at him mercilessly.  For Rowan he would face damnation and not falter, but in doing this, he was leaving Rowan to complete their task alone.  Once beyond the forest’s edge, any protection gained by Ryo’s act would be lost.  He’d be at the mercy of merciless men with no one nigh to watch his back.  How could Ryo hope that Rowan would forgive him?

"He will not, you know," the ghost answered Ryo’s unvoiced concern as though he’d plucked it out of Ryo’s unprotected heart.  Ryo turned on him, vexed and alarmed to have his thoughts stolen and then mocked.  The ghost was unperturbed, though.  He looked off into the darkness, his ephemeral countenance sorrowful and distant.  "Forgive you, I mean.  They ne’er forgive such acts.  They wail and curse at you, damn you for the folly of your feeble heart, and question the wit that would so confound your better judgment."

Ryo’s ire rose and then faded.  The wraith was speaking of a time long passed and of a person long dead, and yet his pain was so raw as to be newly wrought.  ‘Twas of no doubt that he was the shade of the Prince in Rowan’s story.  He could be none other.  Did he speak of his sister, the Princess for whom he’d risked and suffered so much?  Was it she who had cursed and damned him in her grief? 

"Think, you, he will not curse you when he learns what you have done for his sake?" the ghostly Prince spat angrily.  His pale, pale eyes flashed like lightning in the clouds.  "They all do in the end."

The anger was not for him.  Ryo knew this and so was not wounded by it.  "Methinks he will, when he first learns of it," Ryo answered him, regretful yet honest.  "When he wakes and finds he is alone, he will believe ‘twas the ghost of this wood that spirited me away from him.  He will curse you, this wood, and himself for having succumbed to his weariness.  Then he will find my sword thrust in the ground by his side, with nary a stain upon it," he continued, his voice tight with emotion.  "He will know I’ve gone of my own will and for his sake.  Gods, how he’ll grieve.  ‘Twill be I, alone, he’ll curse then, and ‘twill be his right to do so."

"His right?" the Prince repeated incredulous.  "You would condone his betrayal?"

"I would understand his grief."

"And what of your own?" 

Ryo had to turn away.  He could not bear the cold, cruel look on that beautiful face.  The Prince was delicate and fair in that same way that Rowan was, sharp features, narrow body and slender limbs.  A keen intelligence burned behind his pale eyes, and a wit as honed and deadly as ever Rowan’s could be when provoked.  His very countenance was Rowan’s twin, for all they looked not a bit alike, and it bruised Ryo’s heart to witness it marred with hatred and disdain. 

Even with his back turned, he could not escape it.  Like the mists that rose from the damp and mildewed ground, the anger seemed to permeate the area, hovering like carrion over a battlefield.  The air was colder, its touch like icy fingers against the back of his neck.  ‘Twas the kiss of dread, the ill-wind of tragedy and disaster, and it sent its chill coursing up and down Ryo’s spine.  In the clearing there lurked the pall of evil done; and Ryo, in that very instant, knew the significance of the place to which the ghost had led him.

"’Twas here they took you," he uttered his realization aloud.  The trees were blacker; the bark scorched as though struck by lightning.  Throughout all of the forest the trees grew twisted and gnarled, but here their deformity was grotesque, the branches crooked and tangled and covered in bulbous, wart-like growths.  Was the forest cursed, then this clearing was the heart of the blight, the point from which all of the contagion spread.  Verily, it sickened him to stand there and feel its rancorous breath against his flesh, and he was no mystic.  How worse it must be for a spirit forever trapped within its reach; a spirit who, Ryo knew in his heart; was good. 

A crunch of footfalls on the carpet of dead leaves brought his head around, and he gasped at what he saw in the center of the clearing.  The ghostly apparition was gone and in its place stood a young man of flesh and blood.  He was exquisite with his pale golden hair, smooth white skin and piercing violet eyes.  Rich silks and brocades clothed him, hose and doublet of deep greens trimmed in gold and black.  His boots were black leather with silver buckles and they came up past his knees. 

He was tall and slender, and so very beautiful Ryo’s breath caught in his throat.  There was no doubt that the young man and the ghost were indeed one in the same, though how he could be flesh and blood whole when he was naught but mist mere moments before, Ryo could not fathom.  He was and as such, ‘twas indeed this winsome creature who had been so cruelly treated by the raiders.  And in this very clearing!

It sickened him and enraged him so suddenly, Ryo nigh stumbled.  His heart was lost.  One glance at this young man, this ancient and long-dead Prince and Ryo was well and truly enchanted.  His beauty was captivating, his coloring and features foreign and exotic; but ‘twas more than just his outward appearance that bespelled him.  He had placed himself in harm’s way for the sake of one he loved.  He’d been noble and true, and he’d suffered at the hands of those who were not; and where his pain and his death should have served some greater purpose, they had not.  ‘Twas tragic and meaningless, and Ryo’s soft, pure heart wept bitterly for it.

Unwittingly, Ryo’s face betrayed him.  Rowan would have seen compassion and regret, sympathy and desire. (For how could so lovely a creature not stir him?)  But, then, Rowan knew Ryo’s heart and the depth to which Ryo felt and was moved.  This Prince did not.  Icy blue eyes narrowed with contempt and the line of his sensual mouth grew severe.  Malice twisted his beautiful face into a ruthless mask better suited to one of Lord Naaza’s soldiers or a raider from Rowan’s story. 

"You would pity me?" he sneered and Ryo could not help but flinch at the utter violence in his tone.  He was upon Ryo in a flash, moving so fast that Ryo could not prepare for the backhand that sent him sprawling to the ground.  He loomed over him and raved at him furiously.  "You’re a fool.  Fear me.  Curse me.  Hate me, even.  But do not look at me with lust in your eyes and then dare to pity me!"

‘Twasn’t pity Ryo felt in his heart.  Pity was for those creatures that were small and lowly, not for one such as this Prince, who even in his ire and his violence; was magnificent.  Neither was it lust that burned in his eyes, for one did not covet after divinity.  One worshipped it, or prayed for it; and loved it completely.  ‘Twas spiritual, not carnal; and strange that Ryo should take such exception to the Prince’s mistaking of one for the other. 

He pushed himself slowly to his knees and wiped the thin stream of blood from his lip with the back of his hand.  "’Tis not lust," he corrected. 

He was grabbed roughly and shoved cruelly onto his back.  The Prince’s straddled his legs and pressed him into the ground with alarming strength, pinning him there despite Ryo’s struggles.  "Think, you, I do not know lust when I see it?" he hissed, his hands bruising Ryo’s arms.  "’Tis in your eyes as ‘twas in theirs.  A sweet, little girly-boy for the taking, they said.  And they did take me, under that very tree.  Flat on my back like the little whore they said I was, kicking and screaming and fighting them all the while they laughed and looked at me with pity."

He was incensed and nigh frothing in his fury.  His eyes shone like chips of diamond, hard and glittering, and color spread across his cheeks like the blush of fever.  Ryo lay helpless beneath him, flayed and bleeding in the onslaught of the Prince’s terrible words.  ‘Twas the very nightmare Rowan and he had so feared at the hands of Lord Naaza’s cutthroat-men and it shook him terribly.

"’Twas in the eyes of the others, too," the Prince continued, his words taunting but his voice flat.  "All those fools who would come to this wood; thieves and blackguards and marauders seeking shelter from the King’s justice.  They all saw me as easy sport, up to the very moment I ran them through."

There was no satisfaction in those flint-hard eyes.  Whatever revenge or justice the Prince sought from his possession of the forest, it brought him no peace.  His spirit still raged at the violence done him.  Why is he still here? Ryo wondered.  When he has already avenged himself on those who hurt him?

"What do you want?"  He hadn’t meant to say those words aloud.  ‘Twas his heart that wondered, but once spoken they could not be taken back. 

The Prince smiled coldly and said, "I want the payment you promised me."

"You would slay me as the cost of one small hare?"

The Prince pondered for a moment, his head tipping slightly and his eyes sweeping the whole of Ryo’s face.  One graceful, pale brow lifted in consideration.  "You would offer something else?"

His expression left no room for misinterpretation.  ‘Twas a sore mockery of the flirtatious leer Rowan had given him as they’d sat huddled by the fire and it left Ryo feeling cold.  In truth when he’d promised payment, he hadn’t given much thought to what that price might actually be.  At the moment the necessity of food and safety had been foremost in his mind, and he could conceive of no price he’d deem too high to pay for Rowan’s sake; even his life.  Surely his virtue was not of greater value to him than his life.  Did it mean he might leave this wood at Rowan’s side on the morrow, alive and somewhat whole, would that not be worth his honor? 

Rowan would rage at him when he learned of it, but then, Rowan would still have him alive at which to rage.  In time he would forgive him.  Rowan always forgave him, and in truth, were their roles reversed Ryo surmised Rowan would do no differently.   He drew a deep, unsteady breath and forced his body to cease its struggles.  He had no love of being pinned and he resisted it unconsciously.  His arms went lax beneath the Prince’s tight grip, and though his chest still rose and fell with the fierceness of his breathing, the rest of him lay quiet and passive.

"Aye, I would," he uttered resolutely.  "Will it see my debt paid and your…your honor served…"  He turned his head to the side and closed his eyes in shame.  "And does it please you, I…" 

The Prince released one arm and grabbed Ryo’s chin, roughly turning his face back and holding it there.  Ryo looked into that beautiful, unyielding face and saw naught but a brave and noble young man.  Whatever his fate had made of him, whatever anger and injustice had caused his heart to harden and his spirit to darken; he was still that courageous young Prince who had laid himself at the feet of merciless, unconscionable men so as to spare his sister.  In the face of such unselfishness and familiar devotion, Ryo would do no less for the sake of one who was more than a brother to him.

"I would offer myself."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<<{@}>>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On to Part 2


	2. Chapter 2

~~~<<{@}>>~~~

 

The ground on which he lay prone and pinned was cold.  The Prince’s hand upon his face was colder.  No warmth grew beneath the contact, the long, slender fingers leeching the heat from Ryo’s flesh and returning none of its own.  Ryo was reminded, in that instant, that the Prince was not alive despite all appearances to the contrary.  He was a ghost made flesh by some conjury or other unworldly means, a construct with the semblance of life only. 

Construct or no, he certainly looked alive.  His chest rose and fell with every breath he took.  His skin flushed and paled with his moods, and even gave off the sweet scent of honeysuckle and pine.  His hair was full and possessive of a soft subtle wave; and it caught and moved in the slightest of breeze as though ‘twas as light as down or spun silk. 

‘Twas his eyes though which most belied his existent state, for they glittered sharply with an intelligence that was nigh uncanny.  Ryo wondered at what those eyes could see.  Did he know what lurked in Ryo’s heart, as it seemed he did?  Verily, he seemed to look through him at times, to the very core of him.

Ryo felt studied and measured by that steady gaze, assessed to the point where the Prince knew his full worth, though he, Ryo, was uncertain.  Suspicion and doubt narrowed those eyes and pulled the corner of the Prince’s mouth into a frown.  The grip of his chill thin fingers on Ryo’s jaw eased but did not release.

"You offer me that which I already possess," the Prince said casually.  "For are you not here, subdued and conquered under my power?"

"Not conquered or subdued," Ryo explained docilely.  "I offer to you my consent."

The Prince drew back as though he’d been burned.  "Your consent?" he repeated incredulous and confounded and clearly troubled.  He seemed to struggle with himself, his focus turned inwards to some questioning only he could conceive.  "You would give up yourself willingly, to whate’er mean design I have planned?  Are you mad?  Or mayhap, you are a whore, accustomed and preferring of coarse treatment."

‘Twas difficult to remain unmoving beneath the Prince’s entrapment, especially in the face of such slander.  Any struggle to free his body would belie his claim of capitulation.  The Prince was off-balanced by Ryo’s passivity, where he’d obviously expected resistance.  ‘Twas a position, Ryo surmised, to which the Prince was highly unaccustomed and in which, Ryo feared, he would not permit himself to remain long.

"I am no whore," Ryo braved onward.   "But I have naught else with which I’m willing to bargain.  You are pleasing.  Verily, ‘twould be no hardship to share myself with you."

"Share?"  The Prince laughed outright.  The sound would have been sweet were it not for the contempt behind it. 

"It need not be cruelly done," Ryo argued hopefully.

The mirth died immediately, the Prince’s pale eyes icy once more.  "’Tis the way of copulation ‘twixt men.  Conquest and subjugation.  Theft and loss.  ‘Tis ne’er aught but cruelly done."

Tears of grief and dark memory blurred Ryo’s vision.  "’Twas a time I, too, thought that," he uttered.

"You?"

For a moment, Ryo could only nod.  The memory held him--a striking fellow with hair like flame and eyes like new spring leaves, eager and careless in his drunken haste…

"’Twas my first time," Ryo explained, embarrassed.  Two years had passed and still his folly shamed him.  "I was young and new to such sport, and…and well, he was as endowed as he was inconsiderate.  It hurt a lot."  Ryo risked a glance at the Prince, expecting him to mock his ignorance or to belittle his pain.  ‘Twas so scant in compare to what the Prince had suffered, after all.  The sympathy he saw in the Prince’s eyes surprised him.

"You were treated with such ill-regard, and yet you say it can be…what?  Sweet ‘twixt men?"  The Prince shook his head patronizingly.  "You are a lovesome fool."

He disbelieved and yet the Prince seemed intrigued.  Forgetting himself, Ryo made to sit up.  ‘Twas as though he lay beneath a great weight and not a boy nigh his size and build, for he pressed against a force he could not budge, his arms throbbing in the bands of the fey Prince’s grip.

"Aye," he said, his jaw tight with frustration.  "When ‘tis as equals and not rivals, men couple; ‘tis indeed sweet.  I mistrusted it, at first.  I feared to be hurt again, but Ro…"  His throat closed with grief at the mention of his friend and once-lover.  He squeezed his eyes shut against the sting of tears.

"Rowan?" the Prince said.  "The one you left in the forest?  The one whose safety you’d ransom with this strong, young body.  Were you two lovers?  You seemed so.  Tell me.  What will he think when he learns you have offered yourself to another for his sake?"

Ryo sighed in defeat.  He tried to turn his head aside, to hide his anguish from the Prince’s sight, but the Prince seized his chin again and forced his face forward.  "I already told you," Ryo said angrily.  Tears streamed down his temples and into his hair and he could do naught to spare his pride.

"He will curse you, you said," the Prince baited.  "He will damn you and spit at you and rue the day he met you."

"Nay!"

"He will hate you for your betrayal!"

"He will not!"

"You will bleed for him and he will smite you for it.  No man suffers a whore in his presence!  No one!"

‘Twas there again; that raw, terrible anguish etched across the Prince’s exquisite and delicate face.  Like a great open wound, his pain bled freely.  ‘Twasn’t for Rowan’s disdain he ranted and raged.  ‘Twas for the one who had betrayed him; his royal father, the King, who had repudiated and left him unavenged.  Could Ryo call up the form of that man; that disloyal and miserly King, he’d have gladly thrust his sword through the blackheart’s chest for the terrible mistreatment of his son and daughter.  Mostly, Ryo wished he could free his arms from the Prince’s furious grasp so he could draw the Prince against him and hold him.

He could do naught but lay there and weep.  He knew not what the Prince would see in his tears; be it sympathy or pity; and he didn’t really care.  Ryo’s heart was well and truly sundered; his grief and misery so strong it threatened to choke him. 

"We are not whores," he uttered tearfully.  He knew not what more he could say; what words would erase the memory of one abhorrent act and heal a wound which had bled for far too long.  "You, least of all."

Once more, the Prince recoiled from his words and Ryo realized ‘twas kindness which so confounded him.  In word or in deed, ‘twas so foreign a thing to him, it unsettled him greatly.  Eyes flashing, the Prince released him and stumbled to his feet.  His hands were clenched in tight fists at his side, his chest rising and falling rapidly in agitation. 

"You know naught!" he cried.  Around him a great wind began to blow.  It rose with a terrible noise, shaking the blackened trees and snapping their fragile branches.  It drew in around the Prince, enfolding him within its very center, swirling around him like a terrible storm and yet leaving him untouched.  His hair billowed and his clothes flapped in the current, but he remained unharmed.  "Naught!"

Outside the gale, Ryo was not so fortunate.  The wind tore at his hair and clothes like angry hands.  Branches, leaves, and dirt rose up around him, pelting him and whipping him until Ryo was forced to shield his face with his arms lest he be blinded.  "Stop!"  Ryo cried to no avail.  He could not make his words be heard over the roar of the wind.

The Prince continued to wail.  The words were unintelligible and lost in the cry of the maelstrom he’d called forth, but then Ryo didn’t need to hear them.  The bitter anger carried even though the words did not, the anguish so clear it smote Ryo as burning a lash as the debris flailing around him.  ‘Twas the tantrum of a wounded child, unrestrained and void of finesse or strategy and yet no less punishing.  The Prince, after all, was not a child.  Ryo had no choice but to huddle against the onslaught and pray that it ended soon.

From his mouth to the gods’ ears, or so the saying went, the storm died as suddenly as it had appeared.  The silence in the clearing rang in Ryo’s ears, and for a moment Ryo was not aware the immediate danger had passed.  He lowered his arms cautiously, lifting his head to peer into the clearing.  Debris still rained down upon them, covering the Prince’s golden hair as surely as it did Ryo’s own raven locks.  His skin glowed with the color of his temper, a faint blush of warmth high across his sharp cheekbones, and not even the sting of Ryo’s many cuts and welts could cloud Ryo’s opinion of him.  He was beautiful and magnificent and Ryo wanted him completely.

Ryo looked into the Prince’s eyes, eyes that glittered and sparkled like ice shards in the morning sun, and said, "I am not your enemy."

He slowly rose to his feet and took a step towards the Prince.  Without warning, the Prince slashed at the air between them with his hand.  A blow struck Ryo in the chest, throwing him backward to land on the ground.  The air flew from his lungs and his vision dimmed, but Ryo held onto consciousness.  He rolled over and pushed himself to his feet.

"You may rant and curse to your heart’s content, and ‘twill change naught."  He managed three steps before once again he was savagely flung to the ground by the Prince’s will alone.  He was slower to rise, his head reeling and his ribs throbbing.  He clutched at his side as though he would hold the bones in place and regained his feet.  "You will not conquer me for I have already surrendered to you."

Another gust of wind struck him.  ‘Twas weaker this time and so he kept his feet beneath him.  "No purpose is served by your cruelty," he said softly.  "’Twill not change how I see you."  Two more steps brought him closer to the Prince, but this time the Prince stepped back.

"You see me as they all do," the Prince sneered but uncertainty lessened the bite of his words.  "And verily, I see you no less clearly.  Lust and pity."

Ryo shook his head as he took yet another step.  "Grief and regret, sadness and anger; all for what you have suffered.  But not pity.  Ne’er that, I swear it."

"And lust?" the Prince challenged, taking yet another step back.  Alarm showed in his eyes, and something that looked like it might be fear. 

"Desire," Ryo returned.  Gods!  How he desired him!  "You are the most beautiful creature I have e’er seen, and I ache with wanting to know you." 

The Prince’s pale eyes went wide.  "As I said.  Lust!"  His hand went out before him and Ryo braced for the blow.  None came and Ryo realized ‘twas only a mundane gesture of warding, a plea to come no closer.

Any other time, Ryo might have complied.  The Prince was clearly anxious, wild eyed and breathing hard.  Whatever advantage he’d had was suddenly Ryo’s to wield, and as such, Ryo was going to press it for all its worth.  "I would show you how it can be ‘twixt two who are lovesome," he said smiling at his own choice of words. 

The Prince’s back met the trunk of a massive, gnarled tree and he could go no further.  Panicked, he gasped, and in his startled confusion, Ryo closed the distance between them in five quick steps. 

"Don’t touch me!" the Prince cried.

At the same time, Ryo cried, "Let this be my payment to you!"  He caught the Prince’s out-flung hand in his own and held it to his breast.  The Prince’s pale blue eyes were nigh white with fright and the muscles in his arms bunched and strained against the restraint, but Ryo held him firm.  "Pleasure without fear or pain or shame; as it should be with one such as you." 

He was so beautiful, like some rare porcelain idol too precious to touch; but by the gods, how he wanted to touch him!  He brought his hand to the side of the Prince’s face and he could have wept when the Prince flinched.  "I would not harm you for all the world," he said reverently.  "I would worship you and cherish you, but ne’er would I so much as utter a harsh word to you."  He laid his hand ever so gently against the Prince’s smooth cheek. 

For a moment the Prince stood frozen.  He didn’t so much as blink or draw a breath, his entire body tense and poised in dread or anticipation.  Then he seemed to focus on the gentle motion of Ryo’s thumb against his skin, tracing the sharp ridge of his cheekbone.  He blinked, then swallowed, then drew in a shuddered breath, and bit by bit some of the tension left his body.  His eyes were still wary, searching Ryo’s with doubt and suspicion.

"You would see me conquered," the Prince accused breathlessly.

Ryo shook his head.  His hand slid down his face and curled around the back of the Prince’s neck, his fingers threading through that velvety, full hair while his thumb sketched the sharp line of his jaw.  ‘Twas so smooth, the skin cool but so very soft and white.  Ryo’s hands were like dark smudges against that pale skin, his fingers rough and callused and scraped raw.  He felt a pang of shame that he should come to this perfect creature so bedraggled and unkempt, his clothes plain and torn.

"I would wish us on equal standing," he admitted honestly.  "At least in this."  He stepped closer until their bodies nigh touched and their hands were nigh pinned between them.  That hand held pressed to his chest trembled slightly, the long slender fingers curled in on themselves in a tight fist.

Ryo imposed his fingers into that firmly balled hand, coaxing it open until the Prince’s palm lay flat over Ryo’s heart.  He could feel the pulse beat strong beneath it and knew the Prince would feel it also.  How could he not, it pounded so fiercely?  Did his beat as strongly?  Did he even have a heart to beat?

Ryo let his hand drift down the long, slender column of the Prince’s neck in a slow, sensual slide, and settled his fingers over the place on his throat where the great vein lay.  A shiver went through the Prince’s body and his pulse leapt beneath Ryo’s touch.  Its rhythm was every bit as wild as Ryo’s own, and Ryo would have been pleased were he certain ‘twas not in fear.

"There is no battle ‘twixt us," he assured him.  "And so, there is no conqueror and no vanquished."

"One must yield," the Prince argued.  His voice sounded strained as though he struggled to keep it steady.  His body trembled even as he unconsciously leaned into Ryo’s tender touch.  His eyes grew lazy, their pale coloring shifting and darkening to a smoky violet.  Between them, though, his brow creased in distress. 

"Mayhap," Ryo agreed softly, tracing his fingers over every inch of the Prince’s satiny neck and throat.  He leaned closer and breathed in the subtle scent of his skin until he reeled.  There was no warmth to his skin but ‘twas supple and smooth beneath his fingers.  The sharp ridge of his jawbone, and the defined cords of his tendons, and the subtle movement of his throat when he swallowed were a pleasure to touch and to feel with his fingers, but Ryo wanted to feel them against his lips. He grazed the cool, smooth flesh at the hinge of the Prince’s jaw with his mouth and breathed, "In this there can be victory in surrender."

The Prince drew in a sharp, shaky breath and his fingers dug into the muscles in Ryo’s chest.  "How?"

Ryo pressed his tongue to the frantic pulse in the Prince’s neck and felt the sob as it caught in the Prince’s throat.  He pulled back and gathered the Prince’s flush face in his hands.  "Let me show you," he said, and he took the Prince’s mouth against his and kissed it.

~~~<<{@}>>~~~

Ryo was lost.  The sweet satin of the Prince’s neck had stirred his blood as Ryo had not felt since his early and frenzied days in Rowan’s bed.  The smell and the taste of his skin; the wild throbbing pulse against his lips and his tongue, had besieged him utterly, making his heart leap wildly in his chest and his senses reel madly.  He’d thought he could know no sweeter torment than to drown in his scent and his taste. Then he’d taken the Prince’s mouth and had discovered the exquisite silk of his lips.  In that moment, he realized he’d known naught of torment. 

Soft and smooth and dry, the Prince’s mouth was sealed and unresponsive against Ryo’s attention.  Verily, all of the Prince’s body was rigid and restrained.  The cords of his neck stood out against Ryo’s gentle hands, the jaw tense and the pulse frantic.  Long, slender fingers dug into Ryo’s chest, clutching the coarse weave of his tunic as well as the muscle below.  Those hands trembled.  The faint tremor, like a plucked bowstring, resonated from the Prince’s body into his own, a subtle yet stirring vibration, and it quelled Ryo’s passion as only fear could.

Ryo was no rake.  He’d known only one other besides Rowan—not considering the cad who’d taken Ryo’s innocence, for truly he’d not considered Ryo at the time—and he’d never had to play the part of the seducer.  He knew naught of coaxing a reluctant lover.  Truth be told, he wasn’t certain he wanted to have to coax one now.  He’d meant every word when he’d told the Prince he’d wish them on equal standing, and in such a meeting there was no place for coercion. 

He was daunted by the Prince’s reticence, and he wondered had Rowan felt equally as disheartened by his own apprehensions the first time they’d dallied.  How Rowan had soothed him, with tender touches and sweet words.  But then, there had been trust between them, and only the pale shadows of past hurts to dispel.  Here there was no trust, and the shades of the past were vicious and relentless; two obstacles he wasn’t certain he could overcome.

Thus was the source of his torment, for he desired this boy, this fey and enchanting Prince of myth and legend as he’d desired no other.  ‘Twasn’t the hot-blooded passion he’d felt with Rowan, which had been singular to his experience and therefore that which would be forever special and cherished.  Neither was it the heated ardor he’d felt with that careless and inconsiderate, flame-haired cad who’d been his first.  This was longing at its deepest level, a need that was as dire and necessary to his being as air and water and food.  He felt dizzy with it, and at the same time, anguished to the point of true pain that his want was a source of distress to the very one he desired.  He withdrew, defeated, and rested his forehead to the Prince’s shoulder. 

"Why do you stop?" the Prince asked, his voice soft and affected.

Ryo made a sound like a short bitter laugh.  "’Tis plain this affrights you," he lamented.  "And I would not be the cause of more pain for you."

"You said it could be sweet and without pain," came the Prince’s not-so-level reply. "Did you speak falsely?"

"Nay."  He stepped back and made to release him.  "When there is trust…"  He let the words fade, an answer in itself, then braved a glance at the Prince’s face.  His expression was the softest Ryo had seen it, his eyes glittering like two gems cut from the clearest amethyst and the line of his mouth pulled down in a curious and wondrous frown.

"And ‘twixt us there is no trust," the Prince concluded pensively.  "And since this is so…what?  There must then be pain?"

Ryo shook his head.  "Nay, but what kindness is there in terror and heartbreak?"  He laid his hand over the Prince’s heart and he could feel the frantic beat even through the heavy brocade of his doublet.  "Your heart pounds like that of a caged animal, and by your stillness when I kissed you, ‘tis not from passion.  So I must believe ‘tis from fear."  Tears welled in his eyes and he rapidly blinked the offending drops away.  "I meant what I said.  I would have us be equals.  I do not want to conquer you.  I—I would know I stir you as you do me, or…or I—I cannot…"

The Prince’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully and his gaze drifted down to Ryo’s lips.  From that nebulous contact alone, Ryo felt their surface tingle as though they’d been touched for real.  They parted of their own accord and he wet them with a quick swipe of his tongue.  The Prince’s gaze lingered a moment, just long enough for Ryo’s heart to skip and his skin to flush, then it returned to Ryo’s eyes, delving deep; searching for what, Ryo knew not.

He cupped Ryo’s cheek and brushed away the wetness beneath his eye with his thumb.  Ryo made a sound that was benediction and curse, both; and leaned into the touch like a cat.  His eyes closed and his breath quickened, and a shiver went through his whole body.  He covered that hand with his own and turned his face.  Pressing the palm of the Prince’s hand to his lips, he kissed it tenderly then traced the major crease with his tongue. 

He heard the sharp hiss of breath and once again felt the Prince’s heart leap in his chest.  ‘Twas so like his own, that Ryo suddenly questioned his assumptions.  Mayhap, ‘twas not fear that made the Prince’s heart alight in his chest, but delight; and in his innocence of such things, his inexperience with pleasure; ‘twas that very excitement that frightened him.

He held the Prince’s hands beneath his own, one to his lips and the other to his breast; and so he felt the moment the one, which lay over his heart moved and spread.  "Your heart beats as fiercely as mine," the Prince observed with a note of indignation in his voice.  "Mayhap, you, too, are afeared."

Ryo looked up into those pale, apprehensive eyes.  "Do you know what is in my heart and in my thoughts?  It seems you do." 

The Prince did not answer, in voice or in gesture.  His expression was as inscrutable as ever.  Ryo didn’t care.  He was certain the Prince had unworldly knowledge, for twice now, he’d answered Ryo’s thoughts as though he’d spoken them aloud.  It heartened him.  Ryo knew his intentions to be kindly and true, and could the Prince indeed see Ryo’s heart, then he would know it too.

‘’Tis not fear, but delight," Ryo confided. 

"Delight?"

Ryo nodded and he felt his cheeks grow warm.  "Aye.  From your touch alone.  But one kiss from you and ‘twill surely pound itself free from my chest."

The Prince frowned.  "Don’t make jest.  You’ve had your kiss and your heart is still in its cage."

"Nay," Ryo disagreed gently.  He smiled and dipped his head shyly.  "’Twas you who was kissed."  Disappointment crept into his voice in spite of his best efforts to conceal it, and he mentally berated himself for it. 

The Prince tipped Ryo’s chin up, and Ryo had but a moment to ponder the thoughtful expression on the Prince’s face before the Prince brought their lips together.  Startled, Ryo froze.  Even his breath seized in his throat as the Prince brushed their lips in a soft and painfully tentative kiss.  His heart took wing and beneath his hand, the Prince’s did likewise, pounding an excited tattoo that spurred his own in return.  ‘Twas torture to stay so still, when what Ryo wanted to do was to devour that beautiful mouth until they were both breathless and reeling.  The Prince drew back and Ryo couldn’t help but make a faint sound of dismay.

"Your heart is still in you chest," the Prince challenged calmly.

Ryo opened eyes he’d not realized he’d closed until that very moment, and saw that the Prince was not quite as composed and unaffected as he’d sounded.  His face was flushed; his eyes dark and smoky, and slightly dazed.  His breath labored slightly, reminding Ryo that he had yet to free his own, and when he did, it struggled as surely as the Prince’s did.

"I’d not be made a liar," Ryo managed. 

He drew the Prince forward for another kiss, and when their lips touched, his parted to allow his tongue to trace the seam of the Prince’s mouth.  A soft gasp of surprise allowed Ryo access and his tongue stole inside to tease at the smooth underside of the Prince’s upper lip. 

Again, the Prince went unresponsive, his heart hammering beneath Ryo’s hand.  Ryo soothed him with a gentle caress to his cheek, whispering tenderly against that passive mouth, "’Tis how lovers kiss."

"Lovers?"

‘Twas spoken with such wonder, as though he’d never considered such could be possible, that such a thing could exist.  Most likely, he did not know.  Most likely, all he knew was what he’d been shown on that terrible night with those heartless raiders, and like Rowan had done for Ryo; Ryo would need to teach him how it could—nay, should—be. 

"I’d not have it be otherwise, ‘twixt us," Ryo told him.  "Even for just this one night." 

The Prince had the most sensitive neck it seemed.  For all he held himself so rigidly, the slightest touch made his breath catch and shudder.  He fought it, Ryo knew—or tried to, at any rate—putting distance between his mind and his body, as though by removing one he could protect the other.  Ryo recognized the reflex.  He’d been doing the same since Rowan and he had fled their village; shutting down the mental to endure the physical; erecting walls and barriers that were illusory at best and that would crumble at the first challenge.

Those walls were dissolving beneath Ryo’s gentle touch, and try as he might, the Prince was helpless to re-erect them fast enough.  His neck, his throat, the sharp line of his jaw, and the soft silk of his nape; Ryo caressed them each in turn, marveling at the smooth texture of the skin as well as the small shivers his touch provoked. 

"I will not hurt you," he uttered between soft, chaste kisses to the Prince’s lips, his chin, his jaw; following the very path his fingers mapped across his throat to the subtle dip right behind his ear.  He nuzzled there, liking the sweet scent of his skin and hair.  "On my very soul, I’d not harm you," he breathed into the Prince’s ear before drawing the delicate lobe into his mouth with his tongue.

The Prince made a faint sobbing sound in his throat and a violent shiver went through his body.  But he didn’t pull away.  His fingers laced through Ryo’s hair and cupped the back of Ryo’s neck, holding him as he turned and tipped his head into Ryo’s magic.  "Tell me how to please you," Ryo whispered between gentle jabs of his tongue to that maddening spot behind the ear, and the Prince shivered anew.

‘Twas answer enough and Ryo smiled around that delectable mouthful.  He traced every ridge and valley of the Prince’s ear, breathing in the fresh, foresty scent of the silky hair surrounding his face.  The Prince trembled and gasped in his arms, his fingers clutching at Ryo’s tunic and fisting in his hair.  Soft throaty pants filled his ears; the Prince’s as well as his own, building in intensity until they took on the musical edge of voice instead of breath.  Ryo left the enticing morsel, searing a hungry path back to the Prince’s mouth and when he brought their lips together, the Prince kissed him savagely.

~~~<<{@}>>~~~

So he knew how to kiss after all, was the thought that flickered into Ryo’s mind, before his mind shut down completely.  The Prince’s mouth was hard against his, demanding and hungry.  He ate at him greedily, and Ryo let him, opening and inviting the Prince’s tongue to engage with his own.  His blood sang in his veins, his pulse a blinding throb in his ears and in his groin.  He held his body back, though, resisting the urge to seek relief for fear of shattering the moment too soon. 

Their tongues dueled; twisting and snaking around each other’s with an intensity that skirted the edge of passion and frenzy.  Air-starved lungs burned in his chest, the ache of his bruised ribs secondary to the desire not to lose that delicious mouth for even a moment.  Finally the greater need to breathe imposed upon their passion, and they drew apart only far enough to seize after much needed air. 

"’Tis madness," the Prince gasped harshly.

"The best kind," Ryo agreed, latching onto that fine neck to suckle at the erratic pulse beneath the flesh.  He pulled at the laces of the Prince’s undertunic, drawing the neckline open so he could get at the collarbone beneath.  "’Tis passion and excitement that spurs your heart.  Pray, don’t fight it."  He licked and kissed as much of the sharp ridge of bone as he could reach, stopping only to nip gently at the hard points in the middle and to lap at the deep hole they formed beneath his throat.  "Surrender to it."

"Nay," the Prince protested, shaking his head even as he leaned into those kisses, angling his neck to give Ryo better access.

"’Tis the victory I spoke of," Ryo rasped grazing his teeth along the hard cord of tendon at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

"The victory…in surrender?  I—I don’t…"

Ryo pulled back and gathered the Prince’s face in his hands.  Dazed, violet eyes blinked back at him, confused and skeptical.  "I would show you such pleasure that you would cry out at the very beauty of it," Ryo avowed with feeling.  "But you must let me.  You must give yourself o’er to it completely, or ‘twill be shallow and empty.  Such is the way with lovers.  ‘Tis the trust I spoke of, the knowledge that every pleasure given will be received and rejoiced utterly and then returned freely; each for the other.  Your pleasure will be my reward and my delight, for I will know ‘twas I who brought you to that height."

"Lovers," the Prince said again.  There was no question in his voice, just wonder and longing.

Ryo couldn’t help but smile.  "I know of no other way to be with another," he said diffidently. 

"I believe you." 

Once again, the Prince searched Ryo’s face in that way he had that seemed to strip bare all pretense and see clear to the soul.  Ryo met it levelly, undaunted by the scrutiny in the wake of the Prince’s small admission of faith.  Ryo wore no masks and he practiced no duplicity.  All he had left in this world was Rowan and his word, and he’d not willingly risk harm to either.

"I would not ask you to," the Prince told him.

He’d done it again; plucked Ryo’s thoughts out of the air as though they were fruit from a tree.  Before Ryo could comment, though, the Prince drew him into another deep kiss.  Any protest was lost to the sweet glide of moist, supple lips slanting over his mouth.  Slow and leisurely, the passion banked and held in check; ‘twas how Ryo truly loved to kiss and he gave himself over to it, meeting the teasing jabs of the Prince’s tongue with quick flicks of his own. 

The Prince’s hands were still, fisting in his clothes and in his hair, holding Ryo within his possession with an easy grip.  Ryo’s fingers itched to learn the feel of his body without the impedance of clothes beneath them.  What he felt through the cool silk and heavy brocade seemed hard and sleek and verily the small glimpse he’d had of the Prince’s chest was enticement enough to know he wanted to see more.  To touch more.  He dropped his hands to the wide black sash at the Prince’s waist and fumbled idly with the unfamiliar buckle that held it fast, until cool fingers at his wrists stayed his attempts.

"I would see you," Ryo breathed against the Prince’s lips.

With a gentle push, the Prince forced Ryo back a step.  Face flush and lips rosy from their kiss, his eyes an alluring shade of smoky quartz, the Prince took in the whole of Ryo’s face as he seemed to ponder Ryo’s request.  Then with a small nod of his golden head, he took Ryo’s hands from his sash.  A line of concentration formed between his brows and a sudden flurry of mist formed around the Prince’s torso.  The heavy green and gold brocade doublet billowed as though ‘twas the finest gauzy drape, becoming as incorporeal as a puff of deep grey smoke sent awhirl by a sharp breeze.  When that cloud dispersed, the Prince stood before Ryo in only his hose and a thin silk undertunic open wide at the collar, the laces at neck and wrist undone and dangling.

The tunic was black; Ryo’s stunned mind noticed, where it had been white beneath his velvet green and gold doublet.  ‘Twas a harsh color for so fair a countenance, and yet it suited the Prince, bringing an ethereal glow to his white skin and leaching the violet from his pale eyes.  His hair was a crown of gold and yellow and wheat-white silk framing along his face and draping over one eye.  For a moment Ryo could only gape, transfixed by his beauty and by the reminder that the Prince was no longer of Ryo’s world. 

The Prince extended his hand out to Ryo.  Ryo looked at it, at the long graceful fingers and the pale slender wrist just visible beneath the open cuff of his tunic.  He noticed the coarse ridges of calluses across the palm, the telltale markings of swordplay not labor, and the delicate tracery of blue veins at the heel and wrist.  He knew that did he press his lips to that faint ribbon he would feel the steady throb of the Prince’s pulse as surely as he’d feel his own beating beneath his skin.  Whatever manner of creature he was; be it fey or divine or conjury; he was, in that very moment at least, alive and real.  He was flesh and blood.

He looked up at that inhumanly beautiful face with wonder and placed his hand in the Prince’s palm.  Cool fingers closed around his warmer ones and drew him forward.  They met and kissed slow and sweet and deep, their lips demanding yet gentle, their tongues engaged yet equal.  Like a moth to flame, Ryo’s hands went to the cool silk of the Prince’s tunic, liking the way the smooth cloth glided over the skin.  He could count every rib and bone beneath that skin, and trace the firm swells of muscle across his chest.  He could feel the tiny hard pebbles of his nipples, and he caressed them through the silk until the Prince squirmed beneath the touch, panting and moaning into Ryo’s mouth in one continual song of exquisite torment.

Ryo stepped closer, letting their bodies meet and touch their full length. He was careful not to press the Prince’s back into the tree behind him, mindful that it might not be wise to pin the boy at such a time.  Demons were cagey and shrewd, lurking behind sealed doors and within dark corners; and ‘twas their wont to rear their cruel heads at the most inopportune and ofttimes least expected of times.  The Prince was receptive and sensitive, leaning into Ryo’s touch and voicing his amazed joy with soft moans and gasps, reveling in the reality of the present.  There was no place for the past in what they were sharing.

The Prince’s body was as Ryo had envisioned.  Sleek, firm muscle stretched over long graceful bones.  He longed to see the skin hidden beneath that midnight tunic, to know ‘twas as smooth and pale as what little he’d seen through the unlaced neckline.  He longed to feel it beneath his hands without the smooth glide of the silk to mask the texture.  He wanted to trace every inch of his chest and every subtle swell and dip of his ribs; he wanted to touch the flat plane of his stomach and the sharp peaks of his hipbones. 

Gods above!  He wanted to taste him!

And just like that, the Prince’s tunic was gone—the swirling and shifting of mist or whatever ‘twas which comprised his being unnoticed to Ryo’s closed eyes—and there was smooth, cool flesh beneath Ryo’s questing hands.  Ryo groaned low in his throat and broke off the kiss.  He had to see what his hands touched. 

"So beautiful," he breathed.  The skin was white, like the finest porcelain; smooth and utterly without flaw.  Again the sheer perfection was a blaring contrast to his own imperfect hand and he questioned his audacity to touch him.  He marveled at the fine pelt of downy white hair, like the fuzz on a peach, which spread across the Prince’s chest, circling his rosy dark nipples and spearing down the center of his stomach to disappear beneath the waist of his hose.  ‘Twas new to his experience, even in its miniscule measure, and it intrigued him.

He traced it with his finger, following the path across the Prince’s chest, around each nipple and down his stomach, the muscles of which twitching beneath that teasing touch.  ‘Twas so fine he barely felt it through the pads of his fingers, like the brush of a puff of breath, that delicate and soft.  He leant forward and felt the tiny hairs tickle his lips.  ‘Twas a sensation he realized he liked a great deal. 

A very, very great deal.

He began to trace kisses along that same path his fingers had just mapped.  His lips tingled from the stimulation of those infinitesimal hairs, and he licked at them and at the Prince’s skin in tandem.  The Prince’s pulse was fierce beneath his skin and his breath was harsh in Ryo’s ears.  Or, mayhap, ‘twas Ryo’s own breath rasping in his throat.  He felt lightheaded as though he breathed too fast, or mayhap the Prince’s skin was an opiate and Ryo was consumed in its thrall. 

He lapped and laved at that skin, devouring it like a man in dire need of sustenance.  He drew one hard nipple into his mouth and the Prince made a sharp startled cry.  His fingers clutched at the strands of Ryo’s hair and his back arched wantonly, pressing himself into Ryo’s mouth with abandon.  Ryo bit gently than soothed even that tiny hurt with his tongue, loathed to cause him the slightest of pain.  He then left off, kissing and licking his way over to the other nipple to bestow upon it the same rapt devotion.

"May I touch you?" Ryo asked around his tiny mouthful.

A gasp and a harsh exhale were the Prince’s immediate answer.  "You are t—touching me now," he said finally.

A chuckle bubbled out of Ryo’s throat.  He trailed his fingers down the Prince’s stomach to the very top of the Prince’s hose, toying with the small tie that attached them to the center cloth covering his groin.   He slid one finger into the gap beneath the tie, touching skin that was softer than any he’d felt so far, and he heard the Prince’s breath catch.  "Nay, I mean may I touch you?"

The Prince could only nod his head.  Ryo gave the tie a quick tug and it came undone.  He slipped the whole of his hand into the gap and gathered the Prince’s length in a gentle grip.  The Prince uttered a quiet oath beneath his labored breath, his hands tightening around Ryo’s upper arms.  Like all of the Prince’s body, the flesh was cool to the touch, but in that alone was it strange.  It quickened to Ryo’s touch, responding to the slow, even stroking as any man’s would. 

Color painted the Prince’s pale cheeks and passion glazed his pale eyes, and he moved to the easy rhythm Ryo set.  Ryo could tell the very moment the Prince surrendered to it, the very instant he lost himself to the slow fire Ryo stoked within him.  ‘Twas beautiful to see his face so transformed, the way his sensuous lips parted and his smoky eyes lazed.  The soft moans were sweet music in the quiet clearing and yet Ryo wanted to shatter that stillness with cries of pleasure.

"I would show you how else lovers may kiss," he whispered against the Prince’s throat.  Glazed eyes fixed on his for a moment than drifted closed, and Ryo took that as consent.  He kissed and licked and suckled across the Prince’s finely pelted chest then traced that subtle line of fine hair where it arrowed sharply down his stomach.  He went to his knees before him, willingly, and loosed the remaining tie on the Prince’s hose. 

He heard the subtle gasp even before his eyes could feast upon the sight of him freed and bared inches from his face.  He gazed up along the plane of the Prince’s flat stomach and over the swell of his firm chest.  The eyes that met his were bewildered; uncertain even by Ryo’s submissive position at his feet.  He shook his head in mute protest, reaching down to draw Ryo to his feet.  Ryo took his hand and pressed it to his lips and smiled. 

"’Twill be my delight," he said breathlessly.  He kissed the Prince’s palm then set it upon his shoulder.  The Prince mirrored the gesture with his other hand, still hesitant and perplexed.  "Don’t be alarmed.  I will not hurt you."

He dipped his head then and brushed his lips to the blunt tip of the Prince’s length.  Above him the Prince gasped harshly.  His fingers convulsed around Ryo’s shoulders painfully as though he would push him away.  Ryo soothed him gently; caressing the Prince’s flank with one hand while his other maintained its easy motion on his shaft.  He leant towards another kiss.  Parting his lips, he surrounded the sensitive head and flicked at the very tip with his tongue. 

As with every where else he’d tasted, the Prince’s skin was sweet on his tongue, smooth and supple.  His scent was stronger; a rich earthy musk that made Ryo’s senses swim when he breathed it in.  He closed his eyes, depriving himself of the beautiful sight before him to heighten his other senses.  The Prince’s scent sharpened, sending a wave of fevered desire clear to Ryo’s loins.  His low moans and breathy cries filled his ears, blending with his own groans until he could no longer separate the sound from the source. 

Through the thin cloth of the Prince’s hose, Ryo could feel the subtle shifting of muscles and sinew as the Prince’s legs tensed and trembled.  The sensitized pads of his fingers traced the textures and contours of the Prince’s hard sex, from the wiry threads of the nest of blond hairs at its base, to the pulsing cord of the thick vein that ran its length.  His tongue touched and tasted, dipping into the tiny slit at the very tip and licking along the sensitive underside of the head.

Ryo risked a glance at the Prince’s face and found it twisted in an anguished grimace.  His eyes were closed tightly.  He held his lower lip trapped cruelly between his teeth, his breath rasping harshly from his throat.  The Prince’s fingers clutched at his shoulders, but no longer was the intent to push Ryo away.  He was pulling him closer, though wittingly or unwittingly, Ryo wasn’t certain.  His body was still but for the steady tremors assailing it, and Ryo once again tried to soothe him, rubbing the Prince’s quivering leg until the tension in the muscle subsided. 

He leant forward again, swirling his agile tongue around the crown then drawing the whole of his length into his mouth.  Oh the taste of him!  Ryo had never known its like.  Salt and sweetness and cool firm flesh assaulted his palette and he reveled in it, suckling gently and intently as though he’d never get his fill.  The Prince voiced his pleasure with soft pants and moans, and an occasional gasped oath of amazement.  His hands shifted from Ryo’s shoulders to his neck, the long graceful fingers threading through Ryo’s hair, and Ryo encouraged the contact just as he did the subtle thrusting of the Prince’s hips. 

He opened his throat and took the Prince deeper, making a tight ring with his thumb and forefinger around the base of his shaft.  The Prince’s rhythm increased, seeking his pleasure of Ryo’s mouth and hand, and Ryo met the tempo with ease.  He was utterly lost in the sensations, rejoicing in the taste and the texture against his tongue and the fullness filling his mouth.  His tongue lashed him greedily, the muscles in his neck and jaw burning with the strength of his hunger and his singular purpose. 

And then he sensed that the Prince was nigh and he released his hand’s fierce grip.  With a strangled cry the Prince shattered, filling Ryo’s mouth and throat with the sweet salt of his seed.  Ryo drank him down to the drop then caught him when the Prince’s legs folded beneath him.

He drew the Prince into his arms and held him as he shook and gasped, raining tender kisses across his face and nuzzling his hair until he calmed.

"I ne’er imagined," the Prince uttered through his unsteady breath.  "’Tis no wonder…they…"

How ‘twas Ryo knew what the Prince was thinking, he couldn’t be sure.  In that very moment though, he knew, and he quickly silenced the words lest they scourge what they’d just shared.  He tipped the Prince’s chin up and kissed him, sharing his taste between them until once again the Prince was left gasping for breath and trembling. 

"Pray, do not let them in here," Ryo begged softly.  At his words the Prince drew back enough to meet his eyes.  His face was rosy and his eyes glittered.  His golden lashes were spiked with moisture and Ryo gently wiped it away.  "The ones, who hurt you," he said carefully, fearful of what his words might provoke and yet needing to say them aloud.  "Their only delight was in knowing they had forced you to your knees afore them.  ‘Twas not pleasure they sought of you, but…"

"Humiliation," the Prince finished and Ryo winced.  A small smile touched the Prince’s kiss-swollen lips, the first warm smile Ryo had seen grace his face.  "But you knelt afore me of your own will and gave me such pleasure."  Heat rose in Ryo’s face at the adoration he saw in the Prince’s eyes and he dipped his head in embarrassment.  A cool hand cupped Ryo’s cheek and Ryo covered it with his own hand.  "Tell me how I may repay this gift you have given me."

Gathering the Prince’s hand Ryo pressed a kiss to the knuckles.  "Not out of obligation."

But the Prince shook his head.  "Gratitude, mayhap."  Ryo looked up and the Prince searched his face, his pale gaze sweeping over his features with wonder and intense focus.  "And desire." 

Ryo’s face grew warmer still and the Prince laughed merrily.  ‘Twas a musical sound, like windchimes swaying in a gentle breeze.   Warm and light and free, Ryo’s heart filled to hear it.  "How would the bards say this?" the Prince mused.  "I’ve fetched roses to your cheeks."

"Rowan says I blush like a maiden," Ryo admitted with a sheepish grin.

At the mention of Rowan’s name the Prince’s smile faded.  His eyes became pensive and then saddened.  "Your lover," he said softly. 

"Once.  He is more brother than lover, now.  My truest friend." 

"And when he learns of this?  What will he be then?"

Ryo kissed the Prince’s hand again, rubbing the smooth cool knuckles across his cheek.   He knew what the Prince was asking.  They’d had this discussion before, though at the time ‘twas more a means to hurt and to distract.  The Prince’s concern was genuine, regret heavy in his eyes and in his posture.  There was no need for it though. 

"He will be green with envy that I got to touch you and he did not," Ryo answered with a chuckle.  The Prince pulled back, shocked and suspicious.  "On my honor, he is as lovesome a creature as I have e’er seen.  He’s no despoiler and he’s no cad, but he could have resisted you no more than I can.  Than I did."

"He will not curse you, then?" the Prince asked. 

"Nay, he will not curse me."

The Prince nodded, reassured though some doubt still lingered in his eyes.  Some thread of uncertainty persisted that Ryo didn’t know how to dispel.  He touched Ryo’s face and searched his eyes, then leant his head to rest on Ryo’s shoulder.  His hand went to Ryo’s chest, his palm flat over his heart.  "’Twas always kindly ‘twixt you and he when you joined?" 

Ryo nodded.  "Always."

He breathed in the wonderful scent of the Prince’s hair, nuzzling his face into the soft, full strands.  His body still ached for release.  The Prince’s taste was still on his tongue, and the scent of his skin and the feel of his hand were feeding that ache to a slow-burning anguish deep in his groin.  He wanted to feel the Prince’s lean body against his; below him or atop, Ryo cared not.  Whatever the Prince would allow or could endure, would suit Ryo just fine, so long as they both were pleasured.

The Prince drew back and once again searched Ryo’s eyes.  Ryo wondered could he see the images that flowed in Ryo’s mind; the two of them entwined, seeking pleasure of each other flesh to flesh, sliding and striving and reveling in the wonders of friction and strength.  Ryo hoped he could, for he knew not how he would ask it of him, when the mere thought of it set his heart to frantic dance in his chest.  He feared the power of his desire for this young man as he’d never before feared his passion.

Gods, can he feel how much I want him? Ryo thought.

"I would see you," the Prince repeated Ryo’s earlier words as he gave the laces on Ryo’s worn tunic an experimental tug. 

With fingers made clumsy by desire, Ryo loosed the belt at his waist and let it fall to the ground behind him.  He then reached up and pulled the lace free from his tunic, opening the coarse garment to his stomach.  The Prince’s hands were on him, then, sliding beneath the hem of his tunic, pushing it up and off.  Ryo shivered as the cool night air touched his warm skin and then again as the Prince’s cooler touch spread over his smooth chest and down his ribs. 

The Prince’s pale gaze was rapt, following the path of his hands.  Up his sternum, across his chest, the callused pads of his long fingers stimulating the sensitive nubs of his nipples until they hardened and peaked, then trailing down over the prominent ridges of his ribs.  He sucked in a sharp hiss of pain as his fingers passed over the dark bruises on his side and the Prince’s eyes snapped up.  Pale brows furrowed and his sensuous lips pursed in dismay.  Then he was leaning forward and those lips were on him, kissing the darkened flesh over the injury and soothing the sharp pain in his side. 

The other sharp ache, however, the one throbbing between his legs, grew to a knife’s edge.  Ryo groaned and again the Prince’s looked up at him.  His eyes grew wide at whatever he saw in Ryo’s eyes, and Ryo could only hope that the desire he felt wouldn’t alarm him.  He could no more have hidden the heat in his gaze than he could have slowed the beat of his heart.  ‘Twas beyond his control.

He reached out and drew the Prince against him.  Cupping his hand to the side of the Prince’s face he kissed him passionately.  The Prince’s cool fingers danced across his chest as he opened his mouth and took Ryo’s tongue against his own.  A groan thrummed through Ryo’s throat and he fell back, drawing the Prince down beside him on the cold, hard ground. 

He held him tight and found his hand.  He cupped it firmly yet gently, and brought it down to the source of his torment.  For just a moment, the Prince tensed, his hand resisting the entreaty, but then he eased, and his fingers closed around Ryo’s hard, straining length.  Ryo’s back arched and he lost the rhythm of their kiss in the wake of this new unbearable pleasure. 

He kept his hand around the Prince’s, leading him and showing him how he liked to be touched.  Firm grip and slow strokes from base to tip had Ryo arching and moving, unable to be still or quiet as his pleasure built deep within him.  Suddenly the Prince released him and pulled away.  Ryo let out a low cry of protest that quickly turned into a gasp of joy as the waist of his leggings was pulled away and a cool hand closed around him again. 

‘Twas a shock to his over-heated flesh, that cold touch.  But ‘twas flesh to flesh, and the grip was firm and confident and the rhythm as sure as it had been when Ryo had guided him.  Ryo could only thrash and writhe under the attention, utterly lost in the sensations threatening to overwhelm him.  He knew he’d not last long: not under that steady stroking.  He’d held himself at bay for too long.  That touch was too perfect.  Those long callused fingers held him as though they knew the very places, which most enflamed him, never wavering in their quest to shatter him utterly.

"What would you have of me?" the Prince asked then. 

At first Ryo couldn’t answer.  His breath rasped harshly over his throat, and all he could hear was the fierce beating of his heart and his frantic gasps for air.  Verily, he couldn’t imagine what the Prince could possibly mean.  What more could he want than this? 

He forced his eyes open and then forced them to focus on the intent face above him.  There was heat in those pale violet eyes, passion and a touch of profound wonderment.  ‘Twas as though he’d just then learnt what Ryo had meant when he’d spoken of the victory in surrender, but still could not grasp just who ‘twas exactly who’d surrendered and who ‘twas who’d won.

Ryo could think of naught he would want beyond that very moment.  Sweet, coiling pleasure was building within him, like waves rolling ever closer.  Higher and higher, the sensations swelled, surging, filling him to overflowing; and in that moment when he knew he was nigh, he knew the one thing he wanted…needed.

"Your name," he gasped, fighting the wave cresting over him, vying to stave the sweet tumble a moment longer.  "Tell me your name."

"Seiji," came the Prince’s startled reply.

"Seiji," Ryo uttered, trying the name on his tongue and finding he liked its taste very much.  And then louder, the cry shattering the silence of the enchanted glade as thoroughly as the Prince’s sure handling shattered Ryo.  "Seiji!"

~~~<<{@}>>~~~

On to Part 3


	3. Chapter 3

~~~<<{@}>>~~~

　

"What demon holds you here?"

Wrapped in Seiji’s heavy velvet cloak, Ryo and the Prince lay entwined in the twilight enshrouded clearing.  Around them the forest was alight, the eerie clicks and chirps and wails of its mysterious denizens a constant chorus in the background.  Seiji seemed unfazed by the unworldly sounds; no doubt having long since grown accustomed to their presence.  Mayhap, too, the creatures of the dark wood were no threat to him, and so he had no need to fear them.  Ryo wasn’t so fortunate, and so he found their continual calls to be rather unnerving.

Still, he felt oddly safe in the clearing where, when he’d first stepped foot into its heart, he’d felt only the pall of violence done.  That cloud had been lifted somehow, or mayhap something else lay over it, covering its shadow with a brighter air so it could not be so readily felt.  Whatever the case, the clearing seemed less ominous and blighted. 

And mayhap you are merely as lovesome as Rowan always said you were, Ryo mused.

Seiji’s chill fingers, tracing the long bone from Ryo’s shoulder to his throat, stilled but a moment, then resumed their teasing touch.  "Would you challenge them for my freedom, brave sir?" he asked coyly.  "Have I bewitched you so utterly, you’d face such peril for me?"

Ryo’s hand closed over Seiji’s wrist.  "Pray, don’t mock me," he said softly.  His heart felt clenched in his chest at the thought of leaving the Prince a prisoner in this dead and desolate place.  "I cannot bear the though of you here alone a moment longer."

Seiji raised himself to his elbow and peered down at Ryo’s saddened face.  His smile was sweet.  Whatever darkness had lurked in his heart, he seemed freed from it.  He seemed at peace; content and happy, and it broke Ryo’s heart all the more.

"I’d ne’er mock your true heart," Seiji told him reverently.  He cupped Ryo’s face and swiped at the lone tear, which trailed down Ryo’s temple.  "No demons hold me here but my own.  And they are fierce and they are cruel, but they do not seem so great now.  You have stolen much of their power with your kindness.  Methinks, when you leave, I may…"

"Oh Gods," Ryo sobbed at the idea and tears overflowed the rim of his eyes.  "How can I leave."

"Hush.  You must leave.  You will go back to that one you love, to he who loves you.  Even now, he sleeps in that clearing where we left him, and he dreams of you.  He fears for you and he longs for the day when you will let him love you as you want him to."

Stunned and distressed, Ryo shook his head in denial.  "Nay, I told you.  He is…"

"More brother than lover?"  Seiji smiled knowingly.  "You would have him be more.  The need may not be so great as it once was ‘twixt you, but you would have him be what he once was.  Your lover?"

"How can you think that, after what we shared?" Ryo asked, his thought and feelings suddenly very confused and conflicted.  He caressed Seiji’s face, so torn between the love he felt for Rowan and the love he felt for Seiji; no less real and powerful for it being so new.

I can’t love them both.

"Who else but you could?" Seiji asked as though ‘twas so very obvious Ryo should have seen it plainly.  Ryo couldn’t see it, though.  He opened his mouth to protest, but Seiji leant forward and kissed him sweetly.  "There is within you a great capacity to feel love, in all its many shapes and forms.  It o’erwhelms me to feel it.  I ne’er knew love had so many colors, all so vast and varying, and yet each as vivid as the other.  I knew only one in all my life, that for my sister; but ‘twas pale and selfish."

"How can you say that?  You risked your life for her."

"And condemned her all the same."

"Nay!" Ryo cried out.  He couldn’t bear to hear this.  He tried to sit up, to turn to face the Prince and make him see reason, but Seiji held him down. 

"Hear me," Seiji said softly and Ryo had no choice but to listen.  "I was the heir of my kingdom.  She was youngest of five daughters, destined to spend her life at the mercy of our father’s designs and ambitions.  She would ne’er have a choice in her fate; ne’er serve any grand purpose except to pay for further gains that she would ne’er receive.  Her only hope was to prevail until I became King.  Only I could free her from her plight.

"Our father was as healthy as an ox.  ‘Twould be a long time in coming ere he left the throne, and longer still ere he’d part with a dowry worthy of a suitable marriage.  She’d lost all hope.  I hadn’t realized how much until that moment when she knelt beside me in the dirt and looked upon the ravages they’d wrought upon my body with only anger and scorn.  She hated me.  She said I stole from her the only thing that could make her life meaningful.  I stole from her a heroic death.  They would have sung songs about her sacrifice for years to come; the fair princess who bravely threw herself to the wolves for the sake of her people."

Seiji’s eyes had gone distant, caught up in the memory and the pain that would never leave him.  Ryo could only weep for him.  He couldn’t even curse the folly of a foolish, faery-tale-besotted Princess who wouldn’t have known an unselfish sacrifice did one leap from a frog pond and seek a kiss.  He wanted to curse her for the wounds she had inflicted on a brother who’d wanted only to keep her safe; wounds far worse than any the villains had inflicted on his body.

Seiji looked down at him, troubled.  "Don’t you see?" he asked in confusion.  "I was the heir.  ‘Twas my duty to put the needs of my people first.  I should have…My life was not my own to risk.  I should have thought of my people, of their need for a future King, and not my selfish…I couldn’t bear the thought of being alone in that castle without her.  She was the only friend I had."

Seiji pulled back but Ryo grabbed him before he could turn away.  There was a token struggle, half-hearted at best, and then Seiji was in Ryo’s arms.  He was tense and resistant.  He wasn’t spurning the offer of comfort but he wasn’t melting into it either. 

"My people faced the forces of Lord Naaza so that Rowan and I could escape to warn the King of his advances," Ryo said softly.  "There was no way they could have hoped to stand up to such an army.  It had decimated so many villages already; down to the last man, but they were intent on standing their ground to cover our escape.  Two hundred and twenty people; men, women, children, old and young; farmers and weavers…simple folk.  Not fighters.  Not a one truly skilled with aught but a hunting bow.  But they swore they’d buy us time to flee, to put distance ‘twixt ourselves and the army’s advance scouts.  I can only believe they are all dead now or enslaved."

He felt Seiji move in his arms, as though to draw back and mayhap to look at him.  Ryo held him tighter.  He needed him to listen, to hear his words; but he knew were he to look into that beautiful face and see sympathy, ‘twould be his undoing. 

He wasn’t the storyteller Rowan was by a long shot.  ‘Twas a gift few had to be able to put distance between one’s self and the story he or she told.  Ryo’s emotions were such that he could not.  He felt what he felt and he felt it deeply, and what he felt he showed.  The fear and the uncertainty were too close to the surface; the grief was too strong to keep it from his voice.  He had to stop to swallow past the painful lump in his throat.  When he was finally able to resume, his voice wavered and broke.

"We’ve been running for many, many days, now," Ryo continued tightly.  "So many times it seemed they’d o’ertake us.  So many times, I’ve feared we’ll ne’er reach the King’s keep in time.  Only knowing the sacrifice my people made for my sake has kept me going.  Do I stop or do I fail, they’ve died and suffered in vain.

"When we came to this wood, Rowan told me the legend.  He said ‘twas believed you were like the sirens that lure ships to crash along the rocky shores; that you seduce trespassers from the paths and then feed them to the demon who holds you here."

Seiji actually chuckled at that, a soft sound more breath than voice.  "How stories grow," was his only comment.

"Then we saw the hare," Ryo continued.  "I knew ‘twas likely some enchantment at work, and that payment might be required, but I didn’t care.  Whate’er was asked, I’d have done and my duty be damned!  I cared only that Rowan had not eaten aught but berries in days.  I cared only that he might sicken without real food and a night’s rest, and that I might have to go on without him."

"You love him," Seiji said simply.  "Of course, you would do what you had to do to protect him.  ‘Tis your very nature to put your loved ones afore yourself " 

"As you did."

Seiji jerked back and looked at Ryo with stricken eyes.  "Nay.  My people must come first, and I thought about them not at all."

"And what of my people?" Ryo asked.  "They died so that I might warn the King.  That was my duty, and I’d have forsaken it one hundred times o’er ere would I have sacrificed Rowan.  When you came to collect payment, I went freely, knowing full well that you might seek my life.  But better my life than Rowan’s, even though I have the far better chance of reaching the King’s keep than he."

He gathered the Prince’s startled face in his hands and bled his heart’s pain into every word.  "Don’t you see?  What you did, you did out of love for your sister.  Right or wrong.  You put her life afore your own and you suffered for it twice o’er.  Mayhap, ‘twas as you say, and your life was not yours to risk in such a way, but what would your life have been had you stood back and let her die?  What would that have done to your soul?"

‘Twould have destroyed it utterly," Seiji uttered lowly. 

"And what of your Kingdom, then?" 

Tears welled in the Prince’s eyes, then fell; sliding down his white face to be caught by Ryo’s hands.  His own fell unchecked, tracing streaks through the dirt on his face until Seiji reached out a trembling hand and wiped them away.  "My head tells me a despondent King is better than no King at all," he said sadly.

"And what of your heart?"

Seiji shrugged.  "’Twas my heart’s ill counsel that sealed my fate," he said with an ironic smirk.  "I have been reluctant to heed it since."

"’Tis all I listen to," Ryo admitted honestly.  Irony was a thinking-man’s sentiment, and therefore—by Ryo’s own admission—quite beyond him.  "Rowan says ‘tis my greatest weakness and my greatest strength."

"He’s right," Seiji agreed, then smiled when Ryo blushed.  "What does your heart say?"

"It says," he started carefully.  "What you did was tragic but brave for ‘twas done out of selfless love.  It says I should not think ill of your sister.  For you to have loved her so, she must have been worthy.  It tells me to believe, then, ‘twas her grief that made her say such hurtful things to you and that even now she waits for you and prays that you forgive her."

"And what does it say for you?" Seiji asked clearly moved.

Ryo looked down at his lap.  ‘Twasn’t so easy to pardon himself as ‘twas to pardon others.  Seiji took his hand and held it between his own, his thumb rubbing small circles across the abraded knuckles.  "It says that do I succeed in my duty at the cost of my soul, my people have still died in vain.  I could not leave Rowan behind at the village even though the elders said ‘twould be better I went alone.  I knew I’d despair until I could not function were he not with me, and I would fail.  I told them I would not go without him.  I…I told him they had asked for us both."

The Prince lifted Ryo’s hand and gently kissed each knuckle.  "Your heart tells you much, and yet you still fear you have betrayed your people by putting Rowan afore your duty?" 

"Mayhap," he hedged.  Aye, he thought.

"Just as I condemn myself for putting my sister’s life afore my Kingdom." 

Seiji fell silent a moment and when Ryo looked up he saw the thoughtful caste to the Prince’s fair face.  The Prince blinked, his golden lashes dropping to kiss his sharp cheekbones then lifting again.  There was a new light in his eyes of a sudden and he graced Ryo with a smile that both eased his guilt and stirred his grief.

"And yet we do not condemn each other for the same acts," Seiji pointed out philosophically.  "Mayhap, then we should find our own forgiveness in each other’s acceptance, for how can we curse ourselves for acts we accept in others?"  He seemed elated at the prospect, amazed that it could truly be so simple.  He smiled that breathtaking smile, the one that stilled Ryo’s heart and stirred his loins all at the same time.  "Mayhap, you have slain my demons, after all."

He pushed himself to his knees and drew Ryo up before him.  He gathered his face in his hands and pressed a kiss to his lips.  He pulled back and Ryo blinked in shock at the heated look in the Prince’s eyes.  "Love me again ere you leave.  I would know it one more time."

Tears spilled from Ryo’s eyes anew.  "How can I leave you?" he uttered broken-hearted.  He touched Seiji’s face; his lips.

Seiji ignored the question as immaterial.  Ryo would leave.  He had to.  They both knew it for all that Ryo might wish otherwise.  "Love me again," he repeated.

He pulled Ryo close and kissed him again.  ‘Twas passionate and hungry, and Ryo surrendered himself to it.  They clutched at each other, their hands touching and stroking everywhere they could reach.  Lips parted and tongues tangled, their breaths and their groans of passion going each into the other.  Ryo felt himself falling and let himself go, content to lay himself open beneath the Prince at Seiji’s whim.  The cold ground touched his back and Seiji’s weight settled over him, Ryo’s legs spreading easily so their bodies might better meet. 

Skin to skin they touched, hard muscle to hard muscle.  They moved and strove and slid together, their hard lengths engaged like two velvets swords in a duel to the finish.  The rhythm became awkward and the next thing Ryo knew he was on top with Seiji pinned straining beneath him.

He froze and made to lift his weight off the Prince, an apology ready on his lips.  Seiji reached up to cup the back of Ryo’s neck and pulled him back into a searing kiss.  "I want this," Seiji breathed into Ryo’s shock-slacked mouth.  "Your weight upon me.  Take my surrender."  Ryo felt the wicked smile spread across the Prince’s mouth and had to draw back to see it.  Seiji looked up at him, face flush, eyes glittering, expression as coy as any trained courtesan, and said, "and give me my victory."

Ryo groaned helplessly and offered his own surrender in the form of a conquest.  His strength and his passion held just at the edge of restraint, barely contained within the weave of his desire, he delved into the Prince’s mouth fiercely.  He kissed him completely, whispering endearments between gasps for breath, as he moved above him.  He ground his aching shaft against Seiji’s hard length, reveled in every thrust Seiji drove into his own, building the friction and the heat until it overtook them both.

Their cries mingled into one soulful song, such to silence the cacophony of unworldly life around them, and they fell together in an exhausted heap.  Tears flowed from them both, and unawares they let them fall as the final release they both needed.  Ryo rolled to the side and gathered Seiji’s lax body against him.  His heart whispered a hundred endearments from I love you to I cannot leave you to come with me.  Ryo had neither the breath nor the nerve to say a one of them aloud. 

He felt Seiji snuggle closer and he felt the sweet kiss Seiji pressed into his neck, but his body was shutting down.  Exhaustion was claiming him, and though he fought it, fearing to succumb just yet, ‘twas a battle he could not win.  As sleep settled over him, he had but a moment to wonder at the heat of the body beside him and the scent of sweet summer grass that filled his nose, and then blackness claimed him and he knew naught else.

　

~~~<<{@}>>~~~

　

At the soft touch of a cold hand to his face, Rowan came suddenly awake.  For a moment he was confused, unsure of where he was or how he’d gotten there, but that quickly passed.  He lay on his side in the small clearing where he and Ryo had bedded down for the night.  The fire still burned in the circle of stones and the pile of sticks Ryo had constructed the night before, but ‘twas more ember than flame; giving off very little heat and even less light.

And yet he could see.

The clearing was lighter, touched dimly by the first rays of dawn filtering through the thick canopy over head.  He’d slept the night through, he realized with dismay, and Ryo had not wakened him so that he might sit watch a spell while Ryo rested.  Anger flared within him, born more of concern for his overprotective friend than true malice towards him.  Why did Ryo always place his own needs after everyone else’s?  Why did he never let Rowan shoulder so much as a quarter of the burden Ryo carried?

He made to push himself up, an admonishment ready on his lips, but a firm grip about his waist held him pinned.  He looked down and knew the arm about him to be Ryo’s by the sun-bronzed skin and the wide, capable hand alone.  Still he was surprised to find Ryo sleeping behind him, his arm wrapped protectively around Rowan’s waist and his face buried deeply in Rowan’s nape.

He turned slowly and felt Ryo stir slightly but not waken.  ‘Twas alarming, that depth of slumber from one who, as a habit, was not wont to sleep so heavy.  He had always been too easily awakened, roused by the slightest sound and prone to restlessness by the slightest disturbance; and their time on the run had only made him more so.  Carefully, Rowan turned in the circle of Ryo’s arm and raised himself up onto his elbow to peer down on his sleeping friend.

Ryo slept restlessly for all that he slept deeply.  His brow was dipped in a sort of anguished grimace and Rowan noticed that his lashes were spiked and damp.  There were tear tracks streaked through the dirt on his face and Rowan knew in some inexplicable certainty that they were recent and not caused from the tears he’d shed over their lot last night.

He traced a tender finger along Ryo’s cheek following the path of one of those tracks to where it disappeared below the rim of his jaw.  Ryo made a small sound in his throat and a fresh well of moisture gathered in the web of his thick, dark lashes.  Even in his sleep, Ryo wept and Rowan couldn’t bear it.  He took Ryo by the arm and made to gently shake him awake.

"Pray, do not wake him."

The voice came out of nowhere and Rowan sat up with a gasp.  His hand reached out for his longbow while his eyes scanned the clearing for the source, and when he found it, his eyes went wide with shock.  Sitting cross-legged on the ground just on the other side of the fire was a young man of unequalled refinement and beauty.

He was pale in the early morning light, a vision of soft, muted greys and faint blues.  Pale hair, pale skin, pale eyes, all the subtly varying shades of a winter’s sky; it took but a moment for Rowan to notice that the boy’s rich, elegant robes seemed to swirl and sweep like whorls of smoke.

Shock made way for realization, and in its wake came alarm.  ‘Twas indeed no boy who sat so serenely before him, but a creature of mist and lore.  A ghost, he thought, and then he realized to his dismay and fear, that in this accursed wood, ‘twouldn’t be just any ghost.  ‘Twould be the ghost; the cursed spirit of the young Prince who’d been so brutally handled at the hands of brigands and who’d been damned to spend all of eternity bound to the place of his death.

Rowan let his hand fall away from his bow.  ‘Twould avail him not against such a creature.  In truth, there was very little that would.

"Do not be alarmed," the ghost said.  His voice was soft and deep, and it seemed to come from very far away and from very near by all at the same time.  "I will not harm you."

Rowan regarded him skeptically.  He could find little in the ghost’s demeanor to disprove his claim.  Verily, there was naught about him that wasn’t calm and peaceful.  Still Rowan was distrustful.

The apparition shimmered, and although his form remained as ethereal as ever, his eyes grew brighter.  They glittered, two facetted diamonds catching a ray of sunshine and shattering it into tiny fragments of light.  Enchanted by the sight, Rowan wondered idly had the Prince’s eyes been so beautiful in life.

His gaze was riveting and the depth of sadness that suddenly filled it utterly transfixed Rowan.  The ghost smiled a wistful smile filled with longing and quiet resignation, and his gaze slowly fell upon Ryo’s sleeping form.

"I wished only to…to look upon him one more time," he said in his unworldly voice.

There was a familiarity in the look the ghost gave Ryo and Rowan felt an odd tug of jealousy deep in his heart.  Beside him Ryo stirred in his sleep, small sounds of distress escaping his lips and a wince of anguish pinching his brow.  Rowan soothed him with a touch and Ryo leaned into it and settled.  The pain, however, did not leave his brow making Ryo’s face, even in repose, as wistful as that of the Prince.

"He loves you, you know," the ghost continued and Rowan’s head snapped up.  He opened his mouth to challenge the Prince’s knowledge—how dare he presume to know Ryo so familiarly—but the ghost’s next words silenced him.  "Truly, truly loves you.  I ne’er imagined, in all my existence, that such a love was possible.  I ne’er fathomed the lengths to which one might go for its sake.  Methinks I have a measure of it now."

Rowan couldn’t speak.  His eyes were wide and his mouth was open and his heart was dancing in his chest.  Ryo loved him.  He knew that.  He’d always known it.  They’d been lovers for a time, after all.  They were friends and nigh brothers and…Ryo loved him.  Truly, the ghost had said, and with such surety that how could Rowan doubt that the Prince knew of what he spoke?

Ryo loves me! his heart sang and he let his gaze fall on Ryo’s face.  Tears blurred his eyes as he took in the familiar features.  How many mornings had Rowan wakened early so that he might watch Ryo sleep?  Awake, Ryo was so alive and vibrant, his face awash with every emotion he felt, but asleep…Ryo’s face lost something when he slept.  Rowan had never been able to discern what exactly ‘twas that disappeared when Ryo’s face went soft and lax, but whatever ‘twas, Ryo looked like a child without it.

The first time he’d seen it had been the morning after their first time together.  Despite his nervousness, Ryo had been a very responsive and passionate lover.  When Rowan had awakened, though, the memory of their love-making fresh in his mind, he’d turned to look upon his still-sleeping lover and had seen naught of the fiery, dark courtesan Ryo had been the night before.

Rowan could still remember the feelings of doubt and self-loathing he’d felt.  Ryo had looked so innocent and pure laying on his side with his hands buried beneath his pillow and his long, black lashes curled upon his flushed cheeks; that Rowan had felt like the vilest of defilers, as though he’d corrupted a child.  When Ryo had opened his eyes but a few moments later and had blushed to the roots of his raven hair at the sight of Rowan in his bed, Rowan had been nighly sick with guilt.

Rowan smiled as he remembered how Ryo had then shattered that cherubic image, rising up onto his elbow and then pouncing upon Rowan’s body and kissing him senseless.  Such fire and passion, Ryo had, and yet for all his strength and unbridled energy, he could be so achingly gentle.

"You must leave soon," the ghost said sadly, breaking into Rowan’s thoughts.  In his reminiscent musing, he’d forgotten that the Prince was even there.  Rowan tore his gaze away from Ryo’s face, blinking tears of joy from his eyes so he might see the Prince clearly—Ryo truly loved him!  Pain flashed across the Prince’s face and his eyes glistened with the threat of tears.  "Morning is nigh and I fear your pursuers will soon be about.  I can ensure your safe passage through the forest.  Naught within will harm you, so long as I am here."  He stopped as though he had a sudden realization.  A slow smile of amazed wonder spread his face.  "Methinks, howe’er, I shan’t be here much longer."

He stood suddenly, his robes and hair: his very body aswirl with motion.  "Take of the forest whate’er you need.  Hunt and forage as you would.  I can deny you naught."  He looked at Ryo and once again his face grew wistful.  "He has paid for it ten times o’er."  He then turned as though he would walk off into the lightening forest.

"Wait!" Rowan called after him, though he hadn’t a clue what he wanted to say.  Beside him Ryo groaned and shifted fitfully.

The ghost stopped then looked back over his shoulder.  His pale eyes met Rowan’s and held them fast.  "Do you love him?"

The question caught Rowan by surprise.  Still he needed no time to think before he answered.  "Aye," he stated firmly.  "Truly."

The ghost regarded him intently and Rowan knew that the being before him could see clearly what was in Rowan’s heart.  The Prince nodded once, his beautiful face suddenly at peace.  He turned to leave, but then stopped again. 

"Will you tell him something for me?" the Prince asked.  He kept his back to Rowan as though were he to turn around ‘twould be his undoing. 

"Aye."

"Tell him…Tell him I thank him from the very depths of my heart and my soul."

Swallowing past the unexpected lump in his throat, Rowan vowed, "I’ll tell him."

The Prince nodded his head but still he did not leave.  Ryo was stirring, his moans and whimpers filling the silent clearing.  His head began to thrash slightly and he uttered a strange sounding word: "Seiji."

Rowan saw the Prince’s body startle in response to that cry but he didn’t turn around.  He stood where he was seemingly frozen in place, though his entire form was in constant swirling motion.

"I’m glad he has you, Rowan," the Prince said then, the words seemingly torn from his throat with pain.  "Keep him well, I beg you."  And with that, the whole of the ghostly being dissipated in an eldritch breeze and was gone.

　

~~~<<{@}>>~~~

　

"Seiji.  NO!"

Rowan tore his gaze away from the spot where the ghostly Prince had vanished and turned in time to see Ryo bolt up out of his troubled sleep.  His eyes were wide and his breath came harsh.  The cloak, which had served as his blanket, fell to his lap pulling at the opened neckline of his tunic until it slipped from one shoulder.  The laces were gone.

"’Tis alright, Ryo," Rowan assured softly.  He caught Ryo in his arms, anticipating and weathering the moment of resistance until Ryo realized where he was and who ‘twas who held him. 

He fell against Rowan’s shoulder, his body trembling with the aftermath of his nightmare—were it indeed a nightmare he’d suffered.  Rowan wasn’t certain.  That strange word Ryo had muttered in his sleep; could it have been the ghost’s name?  The Prince had reacted as though it had held some power over him.  And then, too, there had been the looks the Prince had given Ryo, gazes filled with familiarity and longing; gazes not so different than the one’s Rowan had given Ryo when struck with odd moments of profound nostalgia. 

"You were dreaming," Rowan whispered into Ryo’s dark hair.

"Dreaming?" Ryo repeated.  He didn’t sound as though he believed Rowan any more than Rowan believed himself.  He pushed himself free of Rowan’s arms, falling back onto one hand.  "Nay.  ‘Twas real."

His hand came up to his forehead as though it pained him.  Rowan noticed the bruise along Ryo’s cheekbone and knew it to be recent.  He’d not had it the night before.  There were lines through the dirt smudging Ryo’s face; tear marks which also had not been present when he’d fallen asleep.  The missing laces from Ryo’s tunic were curious; the bruise, unsettling.  Rowan’s too-vivid imagination assailed him with contradictory images that made his skin run cold and his heart ache; and yet he’d sensed naught threatening from the ghost’s manner towards either of them.

"What was real, Ryo?" he asked, needing to know although he wasn’t certain that he wanted to know.  "Won’t you tell me?" 

Ryo looked up at him with stricken eyes.  He couldn’t speak of the Prince just yet.  ‘Twas too raw a pain; like a fresh burn that screamed beneath the slightest touch.  He wondered would he ever be able to speak of it without feelings of guilt and regret.  He wondered would Rowan understand his silence.

"I saw him," Rowan told him and Ryo flinched slightly.  "Seiji?  Was that his name, the ghost of this wood?"  Ryo nodded.  "I thought so.  He was here in this clearing when I awoke, sitting right there across from the fire."  Rowan pointed to the very spot and Ryo’s eyes drifted over but a moment then fell into his lap.  "He was very beautiful and very sad; and he looked at you...Gods! how he looked at you."

"Rowan, I—" Ryo tried again but the words choked him.  He closed his eyes, swallowing the sob that so desperately wanted flight, and felt Rowan’s cool fingers against his lips.

"Shh."  Rowan cupped Ryo’s face and tipped it up.  "I love you, Ryo," he said sincerely.

Ryo’s eyes flew open and he drew in a quick breath.  "What?"

Was that hope he saw in Ryo’s eyes?  "I love you," he said again.  Tears flooded Ryo’s eyes and for one fleeting moment his face was radiant with joy.  Then those tears turned mournful, as though his happiness was laced through with grief. 

"Oh Rowan."

Rowan pulled him close and held him tight, rocking him and soothing him as he sobbed.  "Whate’er happened ‘twixt you and he," he whispered softly.  "And I know that something did.  He would not have looked at you so, otherwise."  He felt Ryo burrow further into his embrace, his strong fingers clutching at the coarse weave of his tunic, and he merely held him tighter.  "It matters not, Ryo.  Whate’er ‘twas.  So long as you love me, too."

"You know I do."  Ryo’s voice was muffled, but Rowan could hear the underlain plea that Rowan did indeed know.  "I ne’er stopped loving you." 

Rowan’s heart soared.  Whatever had happened between the Prince and Ryo, the Prince had not lied.  Ryo did love him.  ‘Twas all that mattered to Rowan.  He crushed Ryo to him, distressed by Ryo’s sobs but heartened by his words.  Ryo loved him.  "Someday, Ryo," he said into Ryo’s fine, wavy hair.  "Someday, when it doesn’t hurt you so to speak of it, you will tell me what happened in this wood."  ‘Twas as much a question as a plea.  "Promise me, Ryo.  I can’t bear to think I shall be left to wonder fore’er.  Promise me that you will tell me one day and I will bide."

"I promise," Ryo uttered.  He raised his head, one arm coming up to the side of Rowan’s face.  He cupped one dirty cheek and gave Rowan a teary smile.  Then he drew Rowan’s face down to his own.  He pressed his lips to Rowan’s in a soft kiss, but Rowan wanted more.  His lips parted and he swiped at the crease of Ryo’s lips with his tongue; seeking and gaining entrance.

They kissed like lovers, deep and hungry; rediscovering the taste and texture of each other’s mouth.  ‘Twas as though no time had passed.  They fell easily into the old dance, tongues twining and twisting in the way each knew most pleased the other.  When their hands came into play, however, they broke apart panting and gasping for breath.

"Until we have that room you spoke of," Rowan rasped.  He lay his forehead to Ryo’s, willing his body to quiet.

"Gods, I shall think of little else, now," Ryo complained.  His own body was alit and he’d have liked naught better than to lay Rowan back onto the cold ground and slake its desire. 

Rowan smiled a wicked and smug smile.  "Good," he said. 

He laughed at the look Ryo gave him then pushed himself to his feet.  He needed a little distance between them was he to think clearly.  They needed to be on their way.  Morning had broken and they’d lingered far longer than they’d intended.  The ghost had promised that the forest would welcome them now, but Rowan wasn’t sure that the same wouldn’t be true for the men they sought to evade. 

He kicked dirt over the remains of their fire, stirring the coals until he was certain the fire was out.  He then gathered their few belongings, their blankets and their packs.  Ryo’s sword stood thrust into the ground near them.  Rowan hadn’t noticed it until just that moment, and the implication of its placement caused him a moment’s distress. 

Someday, he will tell me what happened ‘tween them, he reminded himself like a prayer.  Until then he wouldn’t wonder.  ‘Twould drive him mad otherwise.  He wrapped his hand around the worn hilt and carefully drew it from the ground.  Clumps of moist dirt and moss clung to the sharp edge and he carefully wiped it away with the edge of his cloak.  He hefted the heavy weapon in his right hand, the weight ungainly in his unskilled grasp.  He marveled at the strength needed to wield such a weapon.  He’d seen Ryo swing it as though ‘twas but half the weight and length, and he smiled at the thought of how that strength might be utilized during their lovemaking.

He turned on his heels, smiling wickedly at the thought, and froze at the sight, which greeted him.  Ryo likewise was transfixed.  He stood in the center of their small clearing, his eyes wide with surprise and his mouth agape.  Around them, the forest was transformed.  Buds of the brightest green filled the trees around them.  Grass poked their delicate fronds up through the layers of treefall, and interspersed within the fine blades were the shoots of new growth of wildflowers and saplings.

The eerie sounds of unworldly life were gone.  Birds chirped gaily in the trees, their songs like those of birds the world over.  Verily, in the light of day, the wood resembled any other forest they had ever seen.  The air was crisp and clear.  The sharp scent of decayed leaves, rich earth and new growth carried on the breeze, sweet and clean and familiar.

"Can this be part of the curse?" Ryo asked bewildered.

Rowan didn’t think so.  Night had not fallen completely when they’d entered the forest and all within had been blighted and deformed.  Of the tales he’d heard, he’d heard naught to suggest that the forest renewed itself during the day only to shrivel and die at the fall of night.  He made his way to where Ryo stood remembering the words the Prince had spoken just before he’d vanished.

"He’s gone, Ryo," he said gently.  He stepped up behind him and slipped his hands around Ryo’s waist.  Pulling Ryo against him, he nuzzled the spot behind Ryo’s ear that had always made Ryo shiver and sigh, and placed a tender kiss to his temple.  "He said he didn’t think he’d be here much longer.  He told me to tell you, thank you from the depths of his heart and his soul."

Ryo turned his head to the side and Rowan could see the wet beneath his eyes.  "Shall I tell you what I think, Ryo?" he asked, taking a tear on his tongue.

"Please."

He coaxed and Ryo turned in his arms.  His blue eyes were bright with tears and he looked up into Rowan’s face expectantly.  "Methinks this forest has sustained him all these many years.  He drew strength from it so he could have form and substance, but in doing so, the forest withered.  Now that he has moved on, the forest will renew itself."

"But then there will be naught to show for what he suffered."

Rowan hugged him close.  "We will remember, Ryo," he said and he felt Ryo nod against his shoulder.  "Mayhap, ‘twill be enough."  He tipped Ryo’s face up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.  He pulled back, but Ryo pulled him down for another.  ‘Twas quick, but thorough, and when Ryo released him they both were stirred.  "We must leave," Rowan told him unnecessarily.

Ryo nodded and stepped away.  He turned and gathered his belongings, securing his bedroll to his small pack.  He took back his sword with a twinge of guilt, running his fingertip along the flat of the long blade with reverence.  He slowly slid the sword into his scabbard and buckled the heavy belt about his hip.  Rowan gathered his bow, his quiver and pack and gave the clearing a quick sweep with his gaze.

"We’ll ne’er forget this, Ryo," he vowed.

Ryo gave the clearing one last look of his own then gazed off in to the forest at some spot at which Rowan could only guess.  "Nay," he agreed.  "We’ll ne’er forget." 

He held out his hand to Rowan and Rowan laced their fingers together.  Ryo brought his hand to his lips and kissed the back of Rowan’s knuckles.  Then without another glance they left the clearing.  Behind them the air shimmered like heat rising off a pitch-covered roof.  No shape formed but the faintest outline of billowing hair and robes.  It hovered a moment, as delicate as pollen stirred by the breeze, then it vanished into the ground. 

Further in the forest there lay another clearing.  There the trees were in full bloom, their buds opened and the floor dusted with pollen and spores.  Flowers poked out from beneath the mantel of fallen leaves, their petals the pale violet-blue of a winter sky.  Their scent was subtle, perfuming the air with a sweetness as delicate as the petals themselves.

Birds chirped and squirrels frolicked in the graceful branches overhead.  The breeze blew cool and the sun shone through the canopy like a spear of golden light.  ‘Twas a place of such beauty and tranquility that in years to come none would ever believe that evil had once been done there. 

At the forest’s edge, the once clear paths became overgrown.  Heavy nettles rose and twined, their thorns as thick as babies’ fingers and twice as long.  Sap glistened on the barbed tips of those thorns, red like blood in the fiery morning light.  The venom was like acid on pricked skin and the forces of Lord Naaza found their progress greatly stymied.  ‘Twas midday before they were able to hack their way through the cloying brush only to find the forest had taken back the paths and trails which lead through her heart to the other side; save one.  By eventide they found themselves back where they had begun, the cruel tines of the nettles still glistening in the setting sun.

Seiji hovered not far from where the thwarted army cursed and fumed.  He was naught but a spirit, free of form and substance; merely a silent witness to all around him.  True to his word, he’d seen Ryo and Rowan through the forest and had managed; with what little energy he still possessed, to delay the army that pursued them.  Delayed, only; and his time was nigh.  He could do no more.

He placed an incorporeal hand on the base of the tree beside him and smiled wearily.  Thank you, Great Mother, he sent to the forest around him.  Once again you’ve helped me when I’ve asked.  My eternal gratitude, for all you have freely given me.  And with that, he left the wood forever.

　

~~~<<{@}>>~~~

　

The End

 

Thank you for reading.


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